On A side Note
by sicilia1347
Summary: "L...?" I called him turning back to the window. London was closer and closer. "Yes, Amelia?" I heard a quick page turn that contrasted the stillness in his voice. "I think we'll be friends for a while now." "Hm. How long a while?" - A narrates about her years in the Wammy's House and what resulted from it.
1. Part I - Chapter I: It's really not

**It's really not about the coffee machine**

At the moment it happened I was living in the biggest city in Argentina: Buenos Aires. My uncle and aunt offered me to go live with them, but they lived in another province. For an extensive series of reasons, it was agreed that I would not leave my hometown and would finish my studies at the school I'd been attending since I was a child. It was a bit of a poshy place, I feel obliged to say, but the people were alright. Can't speak for everyone, though.

For obvious reasons I couldn't really stay in the apartment where I used to live with my family, so that was sold off. I went to live with some friends of ours, who pretty much qualified more as family than my uncle and aunt ever would. As for how legal the whole process was, I have honestly no idea. But that kind of stuff didn't matter much back in the old country, and honestly, it probably never will.

I must have been about fourteen. No, wait. It was before September, so I was still thirteen. Our school headmaster had called for me to go see her at her office.

You see, when she did that, it was never to give me a prize. I didn't hang around school burning kindergarten children, but I was probably the worst nightmare that institution might have ever had. After a certain point they noticed I never paid attention, never did my homework, never worked too hard for my grades and sometimes I wouldn't even bring a backpack or a pen... I was so mediocre it hurt, but I would always end up saving my case at the last minute and with the minimum effort. I guess I'd always been some form of an academic-asshole.

Anyway. I'd heard it so many times, that speech. "Amelia, but you're so smart!" and then, followed with a concerned sigh "If you would only work a little you could be a rocket scientist/find the cure for cancer overnight/win the Nobel prize..."

In my head, I would wonder what gave them that impression. How could they know? They'd never seen me do anything. As far as they were concerned, I was the dense motherfucker I seemed. The hell did they know...

However you still felt pretty much like crap, and no matter how much irony you tried to apply on the subject, on the way going up those stairs it would be inevitable that you felt anxiety building up in your chest. It was the guilt of failing society and the whole rest of the ecosystem. As I went up, I thought of every important homework I should have had delivered days ago and hadn't.

I knocked on the door but forgot to wait for a "Come in" from inside. I would often forget that asking for permission wasn't just a mere modality. However, luckily for me, the mistake passed unmarked.

There was another man in the room whom I hadn't really seen before. The headmaster herself had her face focused on her computer screen and signaled me to wait for her to write a one last paragraph. I had spent so much time in that office I could understand whole sentences from single hand movements.

Finally she called my name, smilingly, of course. She would always smile before a death sentence. For shyness reasons I had hoped the stranger had been gone by the time I'd be told off, but I guessed you can't always get what you want.

"Hey, Amelia, how are you doing?" She told me as I sat down.

Trick question. Why I hate formalities.

"Fine, thanks." I replied almost whispering and, as my natural state commanded, suspiciously so. I forgot to ask her how she was doing, but I guessed it would have been as legit as a discussion about the weather. I just wanted to get told off and be gone.

"You know why I called you in today?"

My math results? The history research paper? The coffee machine fraud?

"No." Yet another formality.

She smiled and jokingly said:

"It's not about the coffee machine."

Damn... Every. Time.

She saw I was now genuinely confused so she finally found a will to explain:

"Amelia, I'd like to introduce to you to Mr. Quillsh Wammy."

"Nice to meet you." I heard from my back.

I turned to see an extended hand, which I automatically shook with yet more suspicion. These two were cooking something. And at the time, it seemed more like meth than cookies.

I learned that Mr. Wammy came from Britain, but that was probably the only palpable piece of information I was given about him in the first 20 minutes of introduction. Whatever they seemed to be postponing, the woman could talk.

I submerged into my inner world, feeding them with the illusion that I was listening, periodically using a few "uh-huh"s and "I see"s. That was until the word "orphanage" came into question, and my head went from "Oh"s to "Eh...?"

"Sorry, what did you say about an orphanage?" That's the problem with entering the 'selective listening' mode. If eventually, a conversation that ranked "3" in relevance suddenly becomes, at least, a "7", your cover blows off.

She cleared her throat, fiddled her thumbs and tried again. Mr Wammy back there had an orphanage.

"Oh..." Good for him?

Did she want me to write an article about that? There hadn't been a single record of my visits to her office that didn't end up with me having to write an article about something.

"He's got a proposition that I thought you should pay attention to."

He finally took a sit next to me and turned it so that we would be facing each other. The headmaster excused herself and said she'd give us room to talk. I turned to him and forced myself to look at him in the eye as to signal attention. His eyes carried exactly what you'd expect to find in the look someone who's wise and calm. Feeling unworthy of their attention, I looked away but listened.

"Listen, Amelia..."

I liked the way he talked. It was smooth. Not a hint of a condescending manner, as I'd noticed among other adults I'd talked to. It was what you'd hope to recognize as respect, I suppose.

I sat and listened without uttering a word. I really listened. He kept talking about an education more suiting for someone like me.

"What do you mean with 'someone like me'?" I finally interrupted.

He smiled to himself.

He went on about how, sometimes, some children were born that did not seem to quite find their place.

I don't want to bore you with them, but he expanded on a couple characteristics that gave me, for the first time in my existence, a feeling of identification. Of being understood without a single question mark. And when he spoke of how he had found a place for them, a place for us, I knew that wherever this place was, I needed to be there. You see, I had chosen before I even knew what it was that would be proposed to me. Before I knew what I was saying yes to.

Maybe I should have done the connection myself, but it was quite likely that I had not wanted to do so. After the whole Neverland speech, he came less relative about the things he was saying. It was revealed that his orphanage was in Britain and that he wanted me to come with him.

By the time I'd noticed, we'd probably been silent for about ten minutes.

Because... So what if I actually did leave with him? It was stated very clearly that, chances were, I'd never come back to the life I knew again. Why? It was not said. How was that a decision for thirteen-year-olds to make?

I imagined saying goodbye my best friend, to the family I was living with, which I loved. Saying goodbye, but, forever. I thought of it really hard and I kept thinking of it. I was sacred, because I kept thinking I wouldn't be able to do it. Or worse. That I actually would.

"Mr. Wammy," I snapped back "I find it specially hard to believe that my school would have called you thinking they had one of those weird... special children for your orphanage."

He frowned when I said "weird" so I changed it for special. Which means weird, if you ask me.

He chuckled slightly nonetheless.

"Your school didn't call me. I came here looking for you."

"Why? Did you know my parents?"

"No."

"Then how are we connected? How did you know of me?"

Picture the following: all of your life, you've felt misplaced. After your parents die before what you thought should have been their 300th birthday, some guy, whom you have never seen or heard of before, shows up speaking of having found a place for you.

Vat iz going on.

"Tell me, Amelia" He pronounced my name weird. He said it like 'A-mee-lia' instead of 'A-meh-lia'. "Do you remember Dr. Ruvie?"

Oh. Yeah, I remembered. Co-worker of my dad's, annoying laughter. He was a shrink. I was made see him three times a week after my parents passed away. It didn't make a major change, but the guy was alright I guess. Only he asked too many questions and made me do a lot of puzzles, drawings, etc. I have probably written every psychology test there is and will be. I'm not sure anymore, but I wouldn't be too surprised if between those tests I also agreed to a tarot reading or a live autopsy.

"Well, he is a friend of mine, whom I visit every now and then." He went on "And while we were talking, you came up in our conversation."

I did, huh?

"Well, what did he say?"

"He told me a lot of things about you."

Again with the precision.

"Now Amy," He looked down and serious for a moment. I stopped to think how nobody ever had called me Amy. "I would like you to consider the option of coming with me to the Wammy's House, where you'd be most joyously welcomed. I'll be leaving in 15 days, so you can take as much time as 12 days to decide, at most, since there are a lot of things related to paperwork and other etceteras to handle." He wrote down something on a piece of paper from the headmaster's desk "This is the number of the hotel, and this is my room's number. I'll also add and address at the bottom."

He gave it to me, I folded it and put it in my pocket. I mean, 'Amy' was rather unlatin. Would everybody call me that in Britain? It didn't sound bad... it just...

"Mr. Wammy?" I looked up. He was gone. I stood silent for a minute to observe the room. The ticking noise from the clock's wall had suddenly become quite aggressive.


	2. Part I - Chapter II: Slip

**Slip**

"I'm home" I shouted.

The twins were in the living room playing videogames. Francisco and Sebastián were probably upstairs in the computers. I walked up to the dinning room and got myself a glass of chocolate milk. I got a few toasts for me and Bernie. I asked him about his day. However, whatever third graders did was not enough to distract me about what had happened that day.

When we were done eating, Bernie proceeded to do his homework and I sat there wondering what my next move would be.

I decided to go upstairs for a while. I knew that the chances of engaging in deep conversation were close to zero, but that idea didn't make me uncomfortable. Francisco was out of reach, so I sat next to Sebastián. He was playing some zombie game of which he, luckily, let me participate. I played for an hour until Sofía arrived. Then I remembered that morning's conversation again. I would have to tell her eventually... Or would I? Had I already decided?

I looked around.

I went downstairs to greet Sofía and she asked me about my day.

A man showed up today and has offered me to join his orphanage in Britain. Oh, and he said that if I go I'll never see any of you again. So, yeah... you?

"Boring." I replied.

She chuckled politely.

"Boring, ey?"

I watched her prepare some coffee.

"Would you care for a cup?"

"Hm?" I snapped back "Oh, yes, please."

We went back to the dining room. I sat down and she did too, that after greeting Bernie with a big kiss on the cheek. He was embarrassed by it and pushed her away.

"Stop it, mom..."

But all effort was futile and, instead, he earned a new one.

I stared at the swirl in my cup of coffee and drank a sip.

I spent the afternoon trying to figure out what to do. I played the piano for a while, I played with the twins, I tried to take a nap, I failed.

I sat in my bed and felt the folded piece of paper in my pockets. I took it out and stared at it.

There was a W underlined and under it was Mr. Wammy's information.

He was staying at a Sheraton Hotel. I exhaled a "wow" and thought about calling him. Not to decide anything, just to talk for a while. I put it back in my pocket and lay in my bed until I was called for dinner.

By the time we were all sitting by the table, Ricardo, (Sofía's husband), was home too. It was strange that I hadn't heard him come in.

We ate and, while we did, I thought of 27 different ways of approaching the Wammy subject after dinner. I couldn't do it.

The next day was a Friday. I chose to stay over at a friend's.

We got a few sweets from a Chinese supermarket in front of her house and ate them watching a movie. Had it been a Saturday we would have probably stood up until 4 AM, but since it was a Friday, school had us done for by 12, so we went to bed.

We talked for quite a while before falling asleep, though. She talked about Fermin, the guy she had a crush on. She asked me if I liked anyone, but I said I didn't. She did not believe me, but she took the opportunity to talk about Fermin for some longer while. And however irrelevant, I listened very intently.

We were so different, her and I, I realized. But somehow we managed to have lots of fun together. And no matter how "strange" other people thought I was, she never really cared about it. Even when she thought I was strange herself.

"Irina..?" I called her after a while. But it was no use, she was already asleep.

The next morning I woke up before she did.

I stayed in my bed for a while and looked around her room. She had some ridiculous posters on the walls of celebrities whose biographies she probably knew by heart, but of whom I had better kept secretly from her, not even known by face. She had a few books, photographs and you could smell the scent of the chocolates her mother had brought her from Switzerland lying around somewhere. Her father was rarely home, but you could tell that she was loved. I don't exactly know what it was about it, but it was obvious if you were in the room.

I stood up and looked out the window. Many people found those kind of views rather tedious or not particularly special. If I ever had, all I know is that I found it strikingly beautiful. Even if the skies were gray, which for some reason people think tends to spoil views. My dad for example would had said he disliked it. He never really liked Buenos Aires. Sometimes I was under the impression he regretted he'd ever gone down there at all.

I used the time to brush my teeth and hang around the house. I observed the things in her place. The rooms, the objects, magazines, furniture, everything. I paid attention to each room's carpeted floor and wall texture, to every colour and recorded every impression that it left on me. I didn't know it at that time, but I was saying goodbye.

"Boo!" Irina scared the crap out of me.

"Jesus." I reproached her, but she laughed her ass off anyway.

"What were you doing, weirdo?"

I shrugged.

"I was looking around to see if there was anything worth stealing."

She chuckled.

"Wanna have breakfast?" She grabbed my wrist and led me to the kitchen. Somehow I felt the question was rhetorical.

I liked having breakfast at her place though. She would always have so much food. And don't get me started on the beverages... So many different kinds of juices, and chocolate milks, and coffees, and teas, etc. My dad was a doctor, so that was basically the end of the juice buying discussion.

We had two bowls full of cereal and milk and some muffins. We watched cartoons until Ricardo came pick me up. I gave her a hug before I left.

On the ride home Ricardo stopped at an auto-mac and we had burgers for lunch. Apparently the boys had already had lunch, so he thought... "why not?".

"Did you have fun? What did you guys do?"

My mom always asked me that and, 90% of the times, I kinda lied about it.

"Uhh... I don't know. We played hide and seek and then a table game of hers. We did English homework too. Oh and we watched a movie too."

Which kinda meant: we played computer games and neglected homework until we actually watched the movie, (which we watched alongside an amount of sweets a step away of type 2 diabetes), and then we went to bed.

I asked Ricardo if we could go to the zoo but he said he had to work.

"Oh, nevermind. It's okay." I didn't even know why I'd asked. It just came to me suddenly and I said it out loud.

"But we could go next Saturday, if you want."

"Sure." I smiled.

I didn't talk again on the way home. I sat idly watching the world outside. I never talked when riding on cars. I forgot to.

"We're home" he announced.

Sofía greeted me smilingly and asked me whether I'd had fun.

I replied that I had as I watched her run into the kitchen. I wondered if she'd heard.

The boys were nowhere to be seen but as I approached the dinning room, I heard the noises coming from the yard. They were probably playing football.

I went to the kitchen. Sofía was baking a cake.

"Special occasion?" I asked.

"Hm?"

"Is it for a special occasion?"

"Oh..." She smiled "No, I just figured you guys would like some cake this afternoon."

I sat to watch.

"Do you want to help me?" She asked after a while.

I thought about it.

"Okay."

I measured the ingredients and she mixed them in the bowl. I thought we made a good team, given she had more strength to fight that mass and I was more detail-obsessed.

She put some music too. I thought it was funny that she had chosen Glenn Miller's greatest hits for the moment. But maybe she just put it on because she knew it was something we both liked. It gave the scene a strange feel, though.

"Sofía?" I handed her exactly 250g of flow.

A ball hitting a fence was heard in the background. She shook her head.

"What is it, darling?"

I didn't know how to put it.

I kept measuring the sugar. I wanted to get it right. I realized I hadn't given a reply yet.

"Uh..."

Yeah, nice smooth talk, Amelia.

There was no other way than to be direct, once you thought about it. How else would I say it? And if I didn't, I'd probably miss that chance.

"No, nothing." I said. But she seemed to have forgotten already.

She let me lick the spoon while she put the future cake on the oven. I licked it clean and put it on the sink.

She sat at the table and started reading a romantic novel. I sat across her. After a while of silence, she asked whether I wanted to go out and play with the boys.

I analyzed the idea and shook my head silently. She went back to her book. I stood up and headed for the piano, but stopped midway.

"Sofía, something happened at school last day."

"Hm?" She wondered but didn't quite look up.

"Something happened at school last day."

"What was it?" She turned to me.


	3. Part I - Chapter III: Lemon Scent

**Lemon Scent**

Ricardo and Sofía drove us to the hotel address I gave them.

The hotel was hella-big. I was walking behind them on the parking lot, occasionally speeding up my steps so as not to be left too far behind. Sometimes they would shortly turn around to check on me. I didn't know why, but it felt a bit weird to look at them in the eyes.

We walked into the lobby and they asked one of the men at the computers about the hotel room number written under the W in my paper.

"Ricardo and Sofía Borda?" He looked up from the monitor.

They looked at each other and nodded.

"One moment, please." He picked up a phone and dialed four digits.

There must have been a 4 second pause, but each and every second felt like unnecessary torture. I bit my left thumb nail.

"Sir, this is Gerardo from the lobby, how do you do?" I thought it was funny that he should smile like that to talk on the phone. Funny, because he wasn't genuinely happy to be talking to him on the phone, and as if his voice tone wasn't enough, some part of him felt like an additional deceit was necessary. Ricardo smiled at me playfully when he heard my slight chuckle. "I was calling to inform you that your guests have arrived... Send them in? Okay... Okay, sir. They'll be there in a second. Yes, okay. Bye..."

He hung up the phone and the smile disappeared. He looked at Ricardo and Sofía and told them to follow him.

We followed him to an elevator and Gerardo pressed the 20th floor button. Again with the suspense pauses. Why not a 4th floor? I stared at my feet and kept on biting my thumb fingernail for the whole ride.

An electronic bell. Doors opening. We stepped out.

I felt my heart thumping.

I walked behind them, nervous.

And then there was the knock on the door. I heard how a few tranquil steps approached the other side of the door until it was finally opened. Mr. Wammy was smiling.

"Thank you, Gerardo." He offered him a bill. I didn't get to see which one, but Gerardo looked more than pleased.

"Thank you, sir." He left without uttering anything else. I wondered if throwing two pesos at him would have been enough to purchase a "goodbye".

Mr. Wammy now turned to invite us in.

Ricardo and Sofía seemed as much as curious as me, specially when checking the room out. It was big, decorated with flowers and white carpets. A big window on the other side of the room showed an impressive view from the city. The kind that would have made my mother a bit sick due to vertigo. The furniture looked overly expensive. Suddenly I became too aware of my own body, trying not to accidentally destroy anything.

Mr. Wammy invited them into another room so that they could talk, but when I intended to follow, he stopped me.

"Why don't you stay here or go check out the other rooms? I'll handle them." He winked at me.

I stared and ended up smiling.

"Okay."

He closed the door behind him and I stood staring at it for a while. I just didn't know what to start with. I turned around to look at the place and shrugged. I started walking around, touching stuff. Mostly vases. Smelling their flowers. I sat in front of the window and looked idly outside. They were taking their time.

The volume scared me, so I turned the telly immediately off after having turned it on. I sat on every couch and in every position possible. I sighed, bored.

I decided that I would probably find something to draw on if I looked in another room, so I stood up. Kitchen. What the hell.

I checked everything to be fair, but honestly, opening the fridge door had been my sole aim since the beginning, and when I did, I thought I would cry.

All sorts of cakes and sweets and... And... Nobody would actually care if I took OOOOONEE thing, right?

"What are you doing?" A British voice.

Bam. Right from behind me. Out of nowhere. Ninjas were real.

I turned around, still not fully closing the fridge room, but guilt was making my heart beat faster than normal.

"Who... are you? Where did you come from?" I asked him.

A boy around my age had appeared. Black hair, strange eyes. I couldn't positively decide on their true colour. However skinny, he was significantly taller than me and could quite possibly take me down in a combat for cake.

He scratched his hair, quite expressionless except for a minuscule grin.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that?" He wondered honestly. The honest wonder was a very slight irony.

"Well... That depends." I kept the ball rolling.

"Hm?" He looked at me.

His stare was intense and piercing, fully focused on mine except for an underlying aloofness. I liked it. Sofía or Ricardo would never look at me when talking for long. It made me feel a bit off their track, I don't know. Like if despite our physical closeness we would be miles away. But this guy and I... We were on the same frequency.

"What's your excuse?"

"I've been living with Watari for years now, and there has never been any sight of you. And yet here you are now, in our kitchen, stealing our food."

I should have been embarrassed, but he made me laugh. Why, yes, I was stealing food after all. How ridiculous a scene.

"What's yours?" He requested.

I pondered. It beat mine, so I sighed.

"You win. I was invited by Mr. Wammy and told I was free to investigate the rooms."

He now looked actually curious. I understood what he was thinking.

After a pause for consideration, I spoke first.

"Do you think Mr. Wammy purposely didn't mention each other's existence to us?"

He hummed.

"I think the real question is why."

I nodded, but I was confused. It was so strange to me that we'd come to understand each other like this after so short and so odd circumstances. He didn't seem to had noticed yet.

"Who's Watari?" I asked regarding whom he'd mentioned moments before. I figured it had to be Mr. Wammy, but why would he go by another name? Or was it a nickname this guy was giving him?

"Who are you?"

"I'll tell you in exchange of a piece of cake." I bargained.

He considered my proposition for a moment until he finally looked up.

"Alright. But on one condition: it can't be from the chocolate one."

Wow, this guy took his cakes seriously.

I shrugged, fair trade. I wanted the lemon pie anyway.

He followed my example and took a portion of chocolate cake for himself. We sat on the floor to eat. I was still to answer my question, but it would seem as if prolonged pauses were not a problem in our way to converse.

"My name is Amelia." I introduced myself after a few bites "And this cake lacks lemon scent."

He glanced at me and went back to his, absorbing both the cake and the information at the same time.

"I know." He said after a while, pinching his cake with a fork, more playfully than decidedly. He looked at me mischievously.

So we had an evil one.

"How did you end up here, Amelia?" He asked, putting his empty plate away. Unlike Mr. Wammy, he pronounced my name right.

I licked the cream of my fork, shrugging. I removed some of the cream left on my face with my fingers and licked them as well.

"Long version or short version?" I mumbled indifferently. I had forgotten all about nervousness.

"Short, please."

"As we speak, my foster parents are arranging with Mr. Wammy to have me go with him to his orphanage in Britain."

His every movement stopped. He turned to look at me with a look of bewilderment.

"To the Wammy's House?"

I shrugged meaning to symbolize a vague 'yeah'.

He still didn't move, I raised my eyebrows.

"I don't understand what it is that you don't understand." I told him.

After a while he replied.

"Amelia, dear, I think there's plenty that neither of us will understand for a while now."

My head tilted, almost to be lost in thought, holding on to reality.

"How long a while now?"

He shrugged and got up to put his plate on the sink. The sound of water running filled the room. It was only the sponge sloppily rubbing itself against the plate that interrupted it, followed by an altogether silence when he closed the tap.

He extended his hand to me without turning, asking for my plate. Obediently, I turned it in.

The same sequence of sounds filled the room, peacefully, despite the violence of the water falling.

From below, a question reappeared in my head, claiming for it's opportunity to be spoken out.

"So what's your name?"

He didn't flinch. When he was done cleaning my plate he turned and shook his hands lazily to dry them. He accidentally splattered me a bit in the process, but I wasn't bothered by it as much as I was bothered by curiosity.

"You can call me L."

I tilted my head again.

"How do I spell it?"

"With an 'L'."

We held each other's gaze. He seemed amused by my disconcert.

"Is that your name or a nickname?" I asked.

His expressions went through a fast, yet noticeable transition, until he went back to looking the same old expressionless again. I wasn't going to get a verbal answer.

I stuck my tongue out at him and, behind his tranquility, I saw surprise.

We heard a door open on the other room and adult voices suddenly became clearer with each second.

We looked at each other before my name was called.

"Amelia..?"

Our goodbye consisted of a simple blink.

I got up and followed their voices.


	4. Part I - Chapter IV: Countdown

**Countdown**

"This?"

I shook my head.

She put it away.

"And this?"

I shook my head again.

She folded it more properly and then set it aside.

"What about this one?"

I stared at it with more interest.

"I don't know..." I replied.

"We'll put it here and then we'll come back to it."

I thought Sofía was right. Actually, I thought whatever she wanted was right. I didn't want to have anything to do with that choosing process in all honesty. It made me have second-thoughts. If it had been for me, I would have put everything that there was to put in my bags and taken it to England. In fact, Mr. Wammy said it was fine if I did. But then again... even if they were meant to forget about me, what would I be remembered by?

I felt sad. But not sad enough to change my mind.

The house felt different now. Ricardo and Sofía had been acting more affectionate than ever and the boys invited me to play with them quite more often. They let me choose what games we'd play and things of the kind. The twins would occasionally let me win at videogames. At least Matías would. Lucas had a thing for winning.

It all made me wonder and feel things I felt scared to pursue. It was all about the countdown for me now.

Back in school I told nobody about the orphanage except for Irina. I didn't want any kind of attention anyway.

She reacted exactly like I thought she would. She could not understand it. She did not want to understand it. But upon finding that there was no way of changing my mind, she gave up and tried to make the best of our time. Funny, though. I thought that, from all people, she came closest to making me unpack everything and forget about a man named Wammy.

We would sit in the school backyard like we always had done in our breaks and chatted about everyday things. I knew we were both thinking about how we'd miss each other, but there was nothing else we could do, so we talked about pop music, movies and Fermin.

She broke our fourth wall when she asked whether I'd ever see her again.

I replied with a gaze.

It was the first time I saw her cry. And I paid damn hard for it with a slap across my face. A hug sealed everything left to be sealed.

On the fifteenth day, a limousine came to pick me up from school. How exaggerate, I thought.

I said goodbye to my friend and ignored the multitude gathering at the school entrance to see what all that was about. I heard people shouting their questions at me from behind. I didn't care enough to pay attention to them, but I did turn around to wave at Irina for a last time. She'd gone back already.

The driver held the door for me. Inside were the Bordas. My luggage had apparently already been taken care of.

I didn't ask about the car, I guessed it was a Wammy move. I looked out the window and tried to record as many images of Buenos Aires' streets as I could.

A while into the ride, Matías pinched my elbow slightly.

"I drew this for you." He said, almost shyly.

It was an impressive sketch about a photo I'd seen before. In it there were both our families. It had been taken on a trip we'd taken together to the province of Salta for Christmas. The photo had been destroyed, but he managed to draw as well as he could what he remembered from it. Even the tree where Sebastián had fallen from was there. What the sketch couldn't cover for, my memory could. When I looked into the drawing, I saw a photograph.

I felt an impulse to cry so I tried to abort every thought in connection to the present I'd been given. I looked through the window again, waiting for an instant where talking wouldn't imply weeping.

"Thank you". I muttered, clearing my throat.

I turned around to him and said it more clearly.

"Thank you."

He smiled sadly.

"I know you've always felt a bit like an outsider at home," He said quietly, so that what was said remained between the both of us.

I gave him a look of guilt, denying it.

He shook his head, not willing to accept it.

"I know, and I understand it. But you will always be a little sister to me." He said gravely "If, for whatever reason, you decide that you want to come back... I'll put more work into proving it better to you next time."

I looked at everyone's faces in the car. Everybody seemed too distracted about the fact that they were riding on a limousine. I returned Matías a look of reciprocated affection, but also a confirmation that the scenario was more than unlikely to happen.

"If, however, you never do..." He fixated his look on the window "I hope you find your place where you are going. And that you know that I'll never forget you."

I smiled the best I could.

"I won't either."

When arrived at the airport, Francisco and Sebastián had a fight about who would take my bag. Sofía spent 7 minutes trying to get them to separate. Ricardo gave her time to make good use of her authority, but upon getting tired, he took my luggage from their hands without the slightest effort and walked on. The boys had no other option but to follow. Our party finally moved forward.

Ricardo made all the inquiries needed with the airport staff while Sofía stood to make sure the boys didn't get each other killed. Matías and I sat quietly next to her. Bernie was happily doodling on a colouring book on Matías' lap.

After a while, Ricardo came back for me to handle the check-in.

Every process went on slowly, but the time when everything to be handled was set. We all walked to the gate, where Mr. Wammy was waiting for us.

He greeted Sofía and Ricardo with a handshake and a smile, an uncommon manner for two Argentinians. The boys were up to their thing, but Matías offered him to shake his hand too. I stared at him from below. He was taller than I remembered. He winked at me playfully.

Time was slipping by as fast as sand does when you try to grab it, but you just can't hold it. It was time to say my final goodbyes.

I greeted Bernie with a kiss on the cheek; Francisco and Lucas with a short, shy hug; Sebastián with a punch on his shoulder and a chuckle; Sofía and Ricardo with a long hug, followed by sticky kisses on my cheek; and finally, Matías with a long hug.

I looked at them as I walked away, Mr. Wammy lead my way grabbing my hand. And then I looked up front. That was the last time that I would ever see them.


	5. Part I - Chapter V: At least

**At least**

Turbulence woke me up.

Every light on the plane was off except for some screens and the reading one coming from the seat next to mine. I looked outside the window. The view was dull. Very few stars were to be seen, it was all mostly clouds. All very violet looking for some reason.

I noticed I had a blanket on. I didn't remember putting one on, but upon further analysis I did remember feeling cold while sleeping. It must have been the air conditioner.

I looked to my right to see L, which startled me a bit, since I didn't remember him sitting next to me at all. He was reading a book, holding it as carefully as one would hold a weapon. I thought he was probably the only one who'd truly understood the essence of books.

He was bent over his knees on his seat, an uncommon way to sit, specially in a plane. I noticed he wasn't wearing either shoes or socks. In front of him laid an empty plate.

Shaking my head, I shared a bit of my blanket enough to cover his feet. He turned a page and I turned to the window. I closed my eyes but couldn't fall asleep. The plane kept shaking. You could hear a baby crying way in the back. I focused on the sound of pages turning. That I liked. I found myself being hypnotized back to sleep. My dream was interrupted moments after the turning of pages eventually stopped. I turned to see what had caused it and found L fighting the will to fall asleep, the book trembling in his hands, both of them striving not to lose grasp of it. Whenever it would seem that his eyes were to find rest, they would re-open immediately, refusing to accept its destiny.

"Why?" I asked in a low voice.

"I need to know how it ends." He replied after a while. He'd probably been considering whether replying to me was worth it or not.

I bit my lip amused.

My hands asked permission to take the book and the request was allowed. The title on the cover read "Ancient Tales and Folk-lore of Japan" and underneath there was a subtitle: "by Richard Gordon Smith".

"What was the last you read?" I asked, still between whispers.

"The third paragraph of the fifteenth page" He replied yawning.

I localized it and did the reading for him, loud enough so that he'd hear it, quietly enough so that nobody else would.

"The fatal time arrived. One night, when Heitaro and his wife and child had retired to rest and were sleeping, Heitaro was awakened by the sound of axes chopping. To his astonishment, he found his beloved wife sitting up in her bed, gazing earnestly at him, while tears rolled down her cheeks and she was sobbing bitterly..."

He laid back, finding peace that his problem had been solved. His eyes closed before the end, but I read all of it in case he'd been listening.

I obviously missed quite a scene, since by the time I started regaining consciousness, the atmosphere had changed drastically.

There was a general chatter going on about the plane. The sound of cutlery was the next thing my senses noticed. Slight laughter, irritation tones, food carts and heels following behind them. I didn't want to open my eyes, it was too soon. My pillow moved. When I realized that that was not actually normal, the situation required that I finally open my eyes.

So I understood.

I lifted my head from L's shoulder.

"Er... Sorry."

He seemed, however, more concerned about his book.

He limited himself to shake his head, signaling he didn't mind.

I noticed there was a cup of coffee and a piece of lemon pie in front of my seat.

"And this?" I asked intrigued.

He lifted his eyes from the book and quickly analyzed what I referred to with a glance. He looked strangely amused. Spoke as calmly as usual nevertheless.

"They were serving breakfast while you were sleeping." He explained "I had to order for you, because else you would have probably missed it. Considering you like to steal food, I thought the event would have upset you. I feared for the plane's kitchen supplies."

I smiled to myself and thanked him.

I drank a sip of my coffee.

"Oh," he added "I should probably mention that the coffee was terrible."

I forced myself to swallow it.

"Thanks for the warning."

"Don't worry." He didn't catch the irony.

Someone interrupted our scene. It was Mr Wammy. I hadn't seen him since last night.

"In about half an hour we'll arrive at Heathrow Airport." He informed us. Unlike ours, his appearance remained particularly well groomed "How are you two holding up?" He asked as smilingly as ever.

"Fine." We replied simultaneously.

"Don't forget your belongings. I'll be a few rows behind if you need anything."

Once he left, L and I shared a glance. The presence of Mr. Wammy had brought previous questions back into our consideration.

"Why?" He asked me.

With that vague 'Why', he'd meant to ask the every reason why I had gotten myself involved in the Wammy's House. I wondered whether other people followed his conversations just as well. I doubted it.

"Short version or long version?"

"Long version, please."

So I started from the beginning. I got lost in details, sometimes I got lost for words and had to retrace my ideas back into a speech track. Sometimes that would take entire minutes. But not once did he seemed bothered or impatient by my disorganized blabbering. He followed it impeccably. He listened intently. Didn't rush, didn't interrupt. He looked straight into my eyes when he listened, all the way until I was done talking.

In return I found it that, for the first time, I had talked about things honestly, even nakedly so.

We shared silence.

"What did I sign up for, L?" I asked looking out the window. London was becoming visible.

I turned to see him shake his head.

"Not even I know. At least not entirely." I believed him. "At least now there's you."

"There's me?" I was confused.

He shrugged it off. I didn't fully understand what he meant, but upon thinking about it, at least now there was him.

"L...?" I called him turning back to the window. London was closer and closer.

"Yes, Amelia?" I heard a quick page turn that contrasted the stillness in his voice.

"I think we'll be friends for a while now."

"Hm. How long a while?"

I smiled but didn't find it necessary to turn to him.


	6. Part I - Chapter VI: A is A

**A is A**  
It was two goddamn bells that woke me up the next morning. The sun was coming very intensely through my window: it was painfully impossible to separate my eyelids.  
I stood up so quickly I almost fainted. On my way out of my room I must have hit about three different pieces of furniture... Looking back on it, it could have just been the same chair three times.  
I followed the voices. I got a bit lost at times because I'd get confused about the actual origin of the noises, but I did a good job finding my way, over all.  
I reached a kitchen. Apparently I was not supposed to be there, because the women working on it pretty much kicked me out of there.  
I figured I'd have to go around the place if I wanted to see what everything was all about. So I did.  
I went outside in my t-shirt and boxer shorts, walking on the tip of my toes: the contact of the cold marbled floor with my skin gave me the shivers.  
To my left, beyond the columns, there followed a garden with plenty of bushes and flowers; to my right, there were big windows instead of walls. I looked into them to find a lot of children sitting by tables. I assumed they were having breakfast and, finding myself unwilling to miss mine, I found my motivation to find a door that would grant me access.  
And bingo. I knocked on the glass to call out for the attention of the children inside. A girl stood up and let me in.  
She stared at me with an almost rude curiosity, and I found nothing better to do than thank her. She blinked and went back to her party.  
I mentally shrugged. I looked around to find L, but he was nowhere to be seen. He disappeared off my worry focus the moment I noticed the plates and the food. Real food, not airplane food.  
I grabbed a plate full of whatever would fit into it. Fruit, yogurt, anything and everything. I sat down to eat on a table by the windows that nobody had wanted to occupy, apparently. When I was done, I looked around and felt more out of place than I had ever been. Which was ironic, considering what I'd been told.  
I discarded those feelings knowing that was what my first days would probably go like until I'd been fully integrated. I left as soon as I found an opportunity, nonetheless.  
Walking around the place, I ran into Ruvie on the stairs. He asked me to follow him up to his office. He and Mr. Wammy had been meaning to talk to me when I had a chance... Which meant right then...  
That I would no longer be Amelia and that Mr. Wammy would no longer be Mr. Wammy. Of that, I was to be informed.  
I stared at them, "Watari" and Roger Ruvie, who had been introduced to me as soon as we set foot on Winchester. He was the brother of my former shrink, Francis Ruvie.  
"What? Then who will I be?" I complained at the solemn figures standing behind the desk.  
The room was flooded with books. A grandfather clock took care of the background noise.  
I didn't want to throw a tantrum, but I hadn't been previously informed on this matter. My name was the last, most determining thing I had left from my parents. The one thing I had thought I'd get to keep of them until the end of me.  
Of the two, the only one to actually look concerned was Watari. He knew. But he also knew that I couldn't keep my name. It was about my safety that he was concerned. I felt anxiety build up in my chest. I didn't think I could win off this one.  
"You'll be known as 'A'." Ruvie told me.  
I didn't want to look up. Only one letter was left of my identity. I guessed I'd take it or leave it.  
They said that for the time being they'd give me time to let that sink in. I figured it wasn't going to be the only thing that would surprise me, but once you'd reached that point... What gives? I was encouraged to snoop around as much as I wanted.  
I left the room walking slowly in a manner that pretty much translated in "whatever". My head was spinning.  
I re-traced my steps back to my room and starting putting my clothes in my wardrobe. I actually sort of started throwing them at it, but, same difference. I had more wardrobe space than clothes.  
And the of course, by the time I noticed his presence, he'd been standgin silently there for quite a while.  
"Am I interrupting?" His soft voice mocked.  
I turned and threw a ball of t-shirts at him.  
He didn't avoid the attack, and I watched instead the t-shirts hit his face and fall slowly to the floor. What a guy.  
"I heard you were upset about your name."  
"They told you, huh?"  
He sat down.  
"No, I just heard."  
I processed his answer.  
Oh... Cheeky.  
"You mean to say you've eavesdropped."  
He didn't seem touched by the accusation in the least.  
"If you want to put it in those terms... Then yes."  
He was amusing. I'd give him that.  
"What is that folder you've got there?" I frowned.  
He shrugged and tossed it aside.  
"It's a case they gave me."  
"A case?"  
"As in, a crime."  
"They give you those?"  
He nodded.  
"Can I see?"  
He hesitated. He seemed like he would have said something, but instead he handed the folder over to me. I opened it carefully, barely touching its pages with the tip of my fingers.  
"This is at least 20 years old."  
"Almost: 17." He commented with indifference.  
Feeling observed, I looked up.  
"Have you solved it?"  
"Hm. Not yet. I will, however."  
I chuckled slightly and upon feeling observed, I closed the folder.  
"I believe you." And, feeling a healthy provocation would do no harm, I was obliged to add: "But I also believe I would have solved it faster than you."  
Instead of laughing, he looked up at me intensely and accepted my challenge.  
"I look forward to it," His hesitation added a pause " ...A."  
I blinked nervously. The atmosphere had become quite solemn.


	7. Part I - Chapter VII: Sway

**Sway**

I fell asleep over the table. I thought I'd answered all the questions, but I wasn't too sure about that. They didn't make much difference to me at that point. I'd spent seven hours replying questionnaires and tests of all kinds. Since it was all mostly a question of logic, they weren't all too hard, but they were really just too many. Not to mention some were tricky, so you'd realize you'd answered one wrong while you were solving task 403, and then you'd have to go back 8 pages to find the mistake you'd done in task 206 and correct it. It was a labyrinth, and it was painful, but I'd been told it was very necessary for me to comply with it, and that it would be the last time I'd have to do anything of the kind. Watari said that, because of the things they would be entrusting me to do, they had to know my abilities very thoroughly, as not to give me more than I could handle. Well, if they were so sure I could handle seven hours of multiple-choices, I didn't see why I wouldn't be able to handle the whole goddamn world.

It was the movement that eventually woke me up. I opened my eyes and noticed I was being carried by someone. When my eyes regained their notion, I realized my dad was carrying me back to my room. My eyes watered, not because I was crying, but because it was extremely painful to stay awake. I wanted to let myself fall asleep, but some part of me felt that if I closed my eyes I'd miss something I wouldn't want to.

I felt my father's hands carry me through the Wammy's House decidedly, in a way that gave me the feeling he wanted to protect me from all harm and return me to an undisturbed sleep. But then I realized my father and I didn't live in the Wammy's House. And then I realized my father no longer lived.

"Watari?" I called. But I was shushed, not as a mere command, but as an inevitable expression of concern.

He laid me in my bed and tucked me in. The sheets were cold, but with the time they got all nice and warmed in. I heard, before a door was closed a "Goodnight, Amelia". I must have fallen asleep immediately after, because that is that last I remember.

I never saw L in the mornings, not to mention in class. The next morning was no different, except for the fact that they had changed my every course, presumably to some that were more advanced. What I liked about the Wammy's system, was that it was nothing at all like the one I'd known back at school in Argentina. They took my interests apparently very seriously, and gave me problems to solve where I could boost my own personal strengths. Within days I found myself learning new things to a speed impressively faster. Things I would have never figured I'd be able to learn. Not that fast at least, and not at that age. Watari's words about having found a place for people like me came flying back to my mind. He really had, and I was more than grateful.

My first week went flying. Among books. Among math and physics and television too. While the latter was to be expected, the first two were an absolute novelty to me. As long as I followed a minimum requisite they asked of me, I was basically allowed to learn whatever the hell I wanted. And you have no idea how happy that made me. My existence was giving the biggest finger in the universe to my former headmaster right then.

On Friday afternoons I'd stop by Watari's office to talk. I liked it because he'd usually have tea and toasts waiting for me there. He'd ask me how I was doing and how I was liking my 'classes'. He also asked me about whether I'd made any friends, so I'd talk about L, but nobody else really. I noticed that made him feel strange. And I say strange because I couldn't name what it actually made him feel. The subject would then turn into other kind of discussions.

One Friday, however, what was a nothing but normal chatter became a proposal of more relevance. Watari moved things aside from his desk and put a folder on top. He put his hand on it carefully.

"This here, A," He fixed his glasses "is something very important." He said "It is a problem unlike the ones you've been solving lately."  
"What? Is it more complicated?" I swallowed the croissant I'd been chewing on.  
"It's... different." He considered "I am going to be honest with you now." He smiled, not amused "I've been meaning to give this kind of problem to you since I've known of you." He confessed "You are, of course, in your full right to refuse if you don't wish to do it, but I will only ask that you take your time to think it through. From what I gather, I think you will find it rather fascinating."

I stood staring, not actually noticing he was done talking. He pushed the folder to my side. I cleaned my fingers in my jeans the best I could and opened it.

The thing that shocked me, was not the photo of the dead body, but the fact that I was not as impressed by it as I thought I'd be. I picked up the photo as to see it clearly. I picked another taken from another angle and compared them. And then I went on about the others.

"You'll find a lot of useful information about the case in these pages." He referred to the ones I hadn't yet touched.

I took a quick look at him and went back to the photos. After a minute I noticed I hadn't replied.  
"How useful?"

I was glad to find he wasn't bothered by my pauses.

"It's everything the police could find." He assured me. "It was translated from German to English. There's also a version in Spanish if you so prefer..."

I didn't find it relevant.

"Well, that will be useful only so far, I think." I took a guess.  
"What do you mean?"  
"If it's everything that the police could find, it's not enough." I thought out loud "I mean, given that after..." I checked the date on the photo. It wasn't so old "...three years, they still don't know what happened."

He let out a slight chuckle.

"Well, that's where you come in."  
"Oh?"  
"Take this with you." He closed the folder "Read it in your room or where you please the most. Make sure to read it carefully and try not to get too frustrated about it. You can come talk to me anytime you wish, you know where to find me."

I bit my index finger, looking around. It wasn't the room I was staring at, it was my ideas that I was trying to put in order. Finally, I shrugged and took the folder. It was heavier than I would have imagined.

As it was to be expected, I locked myself in my room and spread sheets and photographs all over. Borrowed maps from the library, a phone book from Germany, markers, nails, you name it. That bitch was mine.

It wasn't fun... I mean, I don't think 'fun' describes it as a whole. It was a feeling of being truly fulfilled. For every step that I gave closer towards an answer, I had to hold my own enthusiasm as not to destroy my little mess down there in the carpet between jumps and "hooray"s. It was the pleasure of hunting down an answer, of creeping on the son of a bitch who thought time and distance were all the safety he could possibly need; the poor bastard who thought he could and would get away with it; the one who had absolutely no idea that as he was flicking through the channels of his television, there was a slow, deathly avenger coming after him, and that he was going to pay.  
Looking for the one page I'd have to be reading next, I noticed someone had left a plate with a sandwich next to me. I'd become so absorbed by my activity that I'd forgotten about dinner (an attitude I'd thought impossible from me), and didn't even notice someone had entered and left the room. I looked up. Yes, I was alone.

I pushed the plate aside and grabbed the page I was longing for.

The information the police had provided for was quite alright, but I was under the impression that there were things they had noticed, that they had not noticed they had noticed, which, given that they had, would have probably been more than enough to gather the key facts that would have solved that case three years ago. Problem number one was, I didn't speak German. In that sense I'd have to leave the phone-calls or inquiries for Watari, but I'd already provided with a list of phone numbers to be called and the questions to be asked in every case.

Someone tried to take the page from my hand and I jumped. I realized I'd probably fallen asleep for a few seconds, or minutes. I hoped it wasn't hours. I cleaned a bit of drool of my cheek as discreetly as possible.

Two feet pointed at my face were the thing I noticed first. L. But of course.  
I rolled over to my side, I couldn't rise. I greeted him from below.

"We meet again."  
"Miss A. Lovely as usual." The kind of mockery that I loved. A sarcasm so far advanced, that a third person would have probably taken it as a compliment.

I didn't make an effort to pull my appearance together. That what had been seen, could not be unseen.

"I see they gave you a case." He looked around.  
"Pray, what gave it away?"

For the first time, he showed me an actual, honest smile. He sat down, not really concerned about where we was sitting.

"Hey, careful with that."

He didn't shrug, but I could feel his brain doing so, which was enough.

"...are again." He said.  
I blinked furiously, realizing I'd missed the last 15 seconds of the world. I was falling asleep again.

"Sorry, I didn't catch a word." I told him.  
"Hm." He sighed, thoughtful "What was the last you read?"

A tinge of curiosity stained my brain.

"The page marked as 38a. I'd finished the first half."  
"Why don't you leave it for tomorrow?"

My eyes closed, my smile widened.  
"I have to know how it ends."

Without further questioning L read on. And when he finished that page, he read another. And then another. My eyes were closed, I couldn't find the strength to make a comment or give him any confirmation that I was listening. But he went on until I started shivering, which was when he exhaled, half worried, half simply observant of a fact:

"You're seriously REM deprived." I heard footsteps advance upon a paper surface "You'll get used to it in time," He went on after a while " but not like this."

I felt my bed cover carefully cover my body. Two hands lifted my head and when it went down again, the surface had become soft.

"L..?" I gathered the strength to call him.  
"Yes?" He sounded more distant now. He was probably facing my bedroom's window.  
Whatever it was, I seemed to have forgotten about it. The sound of an old book's pages turning swayed my thoughts to sleep.


	8. Part I - Chapter VIII: Dearest

**Dearest**

"Well, it seems like you're going to have to learn German." Watari smiled.

I tilted my head to the side, implying I was confused.

"What?" He wondered "You don't want to pursue your case further..?"

After all that?

"Yes, but..." I stood silent.  
"What is it?"

But I don't want to learn fucking German.

I put on a face that somehow expressed my feelings and he smiled radiantly.

He sat down on his chair and I followed his example.

"Because the education you will receive is more suiting for you..." He tried to explain "It doesn't meant it will always be easier. Some things need extra efforts, and given that you're not too fond of them, I thought it would be wise to engage you in an activity where you would actually have a motivation to excel at something. To go an extra mile."

The man thought it would be 'wise'. I thought it was a goddamn masterplan.

"So you're basically tricking me into studying."  
"Yes." He cracked a smile, but upon considering it, he added: "You can, however, always choose not to go on with this case."

I rested my chin on his desk, exhaling.

"But you know already that I won't."

His everlasting smile was all the reply I needed.

"Just as you knew I would accept to come here with you."

He held his smile, but his eyes' expression had changed.

"Yes."  
"In this sense, did I ever really have a choice?" I would have said. But I didn't. Instead, I got lost in thought. I thought about my name. I thought about the multiple-choices. I thought about what my actions meant. I thought about how I didn't know what would become of me. And then, I thought of L.

When I lifted my eyes, I noticed Watari was looking at me. We held each other's gaze for a while. I knew it was impossible, but for the first time I feared he had been reading my mind. Or maybe I had spoken outlou- No, I hadn't.

I stood up.

"Please sign me up for German lessons, then." I requested.

He nodded. I left. We both knew I wouldn't be going to class that afternoon.

Lurking around one of the gardens, I looked up. Of everything that had and was to surprise me that day, I wondered why this time I wasn't genuinely shocked. L was sitting on the roof.

I waved exaggeratedly to catch his attention.

He tilted his head, analyzing my behavior.

Seriously now? I was the weird one?  
How had he gotten up there anyway? What was he doing?

I ran back inside and went up the stairs to the highest floor. I opened a door and recognized Roger Ruvie's office. I went out to his balcony exit and, upon finding it that L was only a few meters (up and) away, I finally proceeded to use verbal communication, given that sign language wasn't our strength.

"What are you doing up here?"

He scratched the back of his head, looking straight at me. He didn't employ any other kind of response.  
While he fished for words, I took my shoes off and climbed on to the balcony's railing, my hands grabbing the on coming roof.

I looked down and saw how tiny everything looked. It was as if it was all made out of cardboard and you could stamp on it if you wanted. And yet all I wanted to do was to stare at it. The idea of slipping into my death had never occurred to me.

My hands reached for a few roof-tiles.

"No!" Terror.

I quickly turned to L.

"Not that one." He pointed more calmly to my right hand "That one." He showed me another.  
I moved my hand to the one that was right next to it.  
"What's the difference?" I asked, a bit annoyed that my judgement had been criticized.  
"Notice the difference in the moss quantity between both tiles?"

I observed them. The first one had definitely more.

"Yeah."

He moved to where I was with an impressive agility. He had probably been doing that for a while now.  
He hit the tile I'd chosen in the first place, and we both observed how weak it was. Had I added my 44 kilos, it would have probably lowered the Wammy's House intelligence prestige, given how stupid a death I would have performed. Those reassuring seven hours of multiple-choice would have challenged ever premise they thought they had.

If it wasn't for L, I would have very probably died. But then again, if it wasn't for L, it would have also very probably never occurred to me to climb the roof so recklessly in the first place.

I climbed the roof successfully and sat next to L.

I was immeditely struck by the beauty of Winchester. Its trees, its buildings. Even the noises were clearer up there. I'd been so absorbed in Wammy-activities that I had absolutely forgotten about the outside world. And now there it was. Quite ours, it felt. And freely so. The wind on our faces was only a confirmation of it.

Ah. Now I see what you're doing, I thought, almost even convinced he could read my mind.

I suddenly thought of Irina. And then of Matías too. I gave the Bordas a general thinking, but my mind revolved around the first two, for the most part. I wondered what they were doing. Whether they missed me. And then I wondered whether I missed them.

It took me a while to decide, but I found it that I did. I hadn't really had the time to stop and think about them, but I did. Not as violently as I thought I would, though. In my own way.

I turned my face and stared at L indiscreetly. I wasn't too concerned whether he was aware of it. I wondered about what he was thinking as his eyes ran through the horizon. I figured it was the same things I'd been thinking of. Maybe a parent, maybe a friend, maybe every other could-'ave-been of his own life.

And then he turned to me.

Happy.

That's what we both were. Despite everything that had happened, despite whatever was to come, we were both, at that moment, happy. We didn't need to say it: we knew it, we understood it, we lived it. All else was irrelevant.  
My thumb and index caught a tiny bit of his sleeve. Yes, the moment was real. Only for so long.

A door closing. That's what it sounded like. And when Roger Ruvie came outside to the privacy of his own balcony to smoke his pipe, we knew that's what it had been. He found, much to his surprise, a pair of shoes a few sizes too small to be his. He looked up and found the both of us staring at him blankly, fighting the urge to politely greet him, since we couldn't fully understand the whole of his reaction.

"For Heaven's Sake!" He complained "Can't I get but one break?"

Apparently he wasn't too concerned about all the danger-related matters subjected to our behavior, but about his own interrupted spare time.

"Come on now, come down!" He commanded.

Our slow reaction to obey wasn't a defiance of his authority. Simply a mere intention to grasp a full comprehension of it.

"If after all the trouble we've been through for you two, you turn out to be suicidal, I'll..."

He'd... He'd... Come on now, we had to get down. Careful, we didn't want to destroy either of his precious roof tiles.  
I was handed my shoes and we got kicked out of his office.

We looked at each other for a long while. We laughed.

And then there was a pause. Not like those were uncommon in our everyday interaction, but that pause had another something to it. Another meaning. And strangely, it happened that since the very beginning we'd had some rare, subliminal understanding kind of bond. We were embarrassed by whatever it was that we'd understood at that moment. And there was no way better to hide it than to kill it with ignorance.

"Wanna go steal some cake?" I suggested.  
"Your wish is my command." He replied.  
"I'm pretty sure this goes beyond your honor." I said going down the stairs.  
"You mean to say... Do you doubt my reasons?" He tagged along.  
"Precisely, dearest."  
"Dearest." He repeated under his breath.


	9. Part I - Chapter IX: Alarms and

**Alarms and surprises**

Stuck to my door there was an envelope sealed with some form of a Gothic "W".  
I opened it very carefully and tried to understand what that was all about. I had to reboot my brain once or twice in the process.  
Feeling neglected, my stomach growled at me, demanding that it be fed. Fearing the mighty rage the Lord of Food was capable of, I obeyed him immediately. I took the envelope with me and ran downstairs. I'd now learnt how to access the canteen without having to go through the garden.  
I sat in the table I usually sat by, alone, and studied my envelope more carefully.  
Two tickets to Germany.  
I tilted my head and had to remind myself not to let my mouth open, since it was full of food.  
"What?" I mumbled unintelligibly.  
I swallowed my grapes and coffee and got out, the envelope in one hand, a toast in the other.  
Before going in, I decided to do him some good and fix my robe and my hair as best as I could. I knocked on the door and went inside anyway. I swear I didn't purposely forget to wait for an allowance.  
The newspaper covering it was lowered, so revealing Watari's face. It was all done in a manner that, despite how subtle, told me how obviously I'd been expected at that place and at that time. The smile was the equivalent for the "Ah, you're just in time."  
"Why hello, A dear." He greeted cheerfully. "I think you've received my letter."  
He watched me advance decidedly, almost even enjoying how much at home I felt inside his office. I threw my body on a divan of his.  
I moved my hands trying to organize a speech.  
"What?" Was all I came up with.  
It was probably established by then that I wasn't the best orator. Politics was probably a career out of my reach now. I guess it's always good to know.  
"It's your German course, as requested." He explained, undisturbed.  
Well, I think they took their courses pretty seriously.  
I turned as to be able to look at him.  
"I'll be going to Germany?"  
"Aren't you glad?" His smile was unchangeable.  
"Who's coming with me?"  
And then he sighed, taking his time.  
"Roger, dear."  
Exactly my point.  
"For how long?"  
"For as long as you find it necessary."  
The massive simplification that answer implied was all the estimation I needed. I thought about it. It would be a goddamn while.  
"When will we be going?"  
"Tomorrow night."  
He sat by me and patted my head. I was staring at the tickets, playing with them.  
"Have you been there...? Germany, I mean."  
He nodded.  
"Is it nice?"  
He smiled, comforting whatever fear there was to comfort.  
"Don't you worry. You will love it."  
Hours passed. I was sitting at Mr. Kramer's classroom. I was doodling on a math problem he'd found for me. It's funny how when you can't concentrate, anything and everything becomes stained with the word "impossible". I felt the same way I'd felt back in my old country: stupid.  
L walked by and made signs for me to come out.  
I raised my eyebrows. Oh, what the hell.  
We were not exactly free to leave when we wanted, but I was an exceptionally good liar. And given that I'd been spending a lot of time at Watari's office, it wasn't too hard to get my ass out of there. I wasn't feeling particularly brilliant that day anyway. And Mr. Kramer knew it.  
"I think they're bringing another one of us." He told me as we walked on.  
"Of us?"  
"You know." He thought I did. I didn't.  
"What are you talking about?"  
I watched him climb a tree. I thought I'd done enough climbing for the week, so I sat and watched from below.  
"Beyond Something, he's called." He went on "Don't you know what that means?"  
I shook my head.  
"We'll probably get to travel to wherever he's currently living at... Watari wouldn't mind." He swung around the tree branches.  
I remembered him coming along with him when they came for me. I sort of followed the connection. The previous experience wasn't valid a confirmation enough.  
"I think you're speaking for yourself right now." I commented.  
He gave me a look of having missed an episode.  
"I'm going to Germany tomorrow." I said.  
He seemed to be thinking.  
"Because of your case?"  
I kinda nodded.  
"You don't speak German." It would have been a question, but he'd replied it to himself before it could be formulated that way.  
I shook my head confirming the suspicion. He understood.  
"You'll like it." He climbed up farther.  
"Will I love it?"  
"Don't push it, A. You're going with Ruvie."  
I chuckled off the tension. A sigh followed.  
Leaves fell before my eyes. He was doing quite a mess up there.  
"What do you think he'll be like..? The new kid." I asked after a while.  
"A challenge." He admitted.  
"What makes you think that?"  
I short bombardment of acorns came from above. I had to take cover. After the shellfire ceased, he added.  
"Well, you strike me as one."  
Oh?  
An unexpected acorn hit my head. I looked up to meet a mischievous face.  
"What about you? What do you think he'll be like?"  
I shrugged. What did I know?  
Then I smiled.  
"Disturbed."  
"Ha- Touche."  
L jumped back down.  
"I'm not supposed to say but, when the time comes for me to choose," He said a bit awkwarded by the frankness "I think we'll both know it has to be you."  
I raised an eyebrow.  
"Past this point I'll assume that you're fully aware that I understood absolutely nothing of what you've said."  
"Amelia, dear," He smiled sadly "I think there's plenty that you won't understand for a while now."  
He wasn't supposed to call me Amelia.  
I blinked cautiously, but followed the script.  
"How long a while now?"  
He looked down.  
"Oh. I think this time it will take quite a while."


	10. Part I - Chapter X: Home

**Home**

I laughed out loud. Roger turned to me and, with a "Hm?", requested to know what it was that I'd found amusing. I shook my head smilingly. He wasn't actually concerned about it. Not to mention he wouldn't have found it funny either way. Not like I had any certainties, but I was pretty sure L would have. I figured I'd tell him when I returned to the Wammy's House... Along with all of the other things I'd been meaning to tell him for about four months.

Ruvie himself was alright. His problem was that he'd had the (incomprehensible) misfortune of working at a place whose sole purpose was to give orphan kids aid (later on we'll probably have to go back on that "sole" adjective. But for now it's staying). Not like he had anything against _orphans_, God, he just disliked the concept of 'kids' as a whole. Things started to actually take off the moment I started to behave myself a bit more in his presence. I'd try to groom myself more, wear shoes at all times, try to reply when I was talked to (which often made me feel upset about my replies' poor content), things of the kind. Yet at the same time, this kind of conduct would often make me seek for isolation, feeling I was repressing my true, natural-state self. But at least he respected that.

Somebody entered the building. Good thing was you didn't have to be constantly and suspiciously staring at the doors, since every time they'd open, (and given that you were sitting in the right seat), a winterly breeze would hit your face and mess your hair. Bad thing was, that it was thanks to that winterly breeze that I could almost swear I could hear my frozen blood vessels contract beyond anatomically possible. I made a note to myself to mail my discoveries to the British Journal of Medicine and Medical Research as soon as I returned.

"Do we have to be sitting _here_?" Roger had started to get uneasy again.  
I nodded. Who's the child now?  
"I'll go get us some coffee." He informed me, finding an excuse to escape the cold. And say they tried to teach _me_ dedication.

When he said he'd get us coffee, he meant _him_. As for me, he was actually going to get me hot chocolate instead. He didn't like it if I consumed caffeine. I thought he was being overly ridiculous, but I'd let him have it his way if that was the way he'd found to show his concern for me.

I'd been sitting in the same position for about two hours and 47 minutes. I knew it because after some point my whole self had become synchronized with the room and the ticking of its clock. If asked, I could also name the last twenty patients that had been called out by the doctor I was particularly interested in. I'd start a new count every time I hit twenty. I could also tell you an estimated amount of the remaining glasses of water the dispenser had left to offer. Around 35, if it makes a difference. I didn't know it at the moment, but I was nervous. Each sound, each step, each new patient was a countdown to me.

And then the door opened again. I don't know what stimulus set the reaction first in my brain, but I had suddenly completed the puzzle without my head having had the time to actually count how many pieces there were available to play.

Time slowed down. Considerably.

The brusqueness of the way he opened the door. The scary pressure of the footsteps splattering snow as he went. The half limping left foot that made his walking march seem out of rhythm: it was a march nonetheless.

The door had closed already but the cold hadn't left my skin.

I raised my head slowly. My heart beats sped up. Something told me this had been the moment I had been waiting for a very, very long time, but I had yet to be carefully patient and not let my eagerness to win destroy the magnificence of my plan.

I looked at him from behind, walking towards the counter. I wasn't looking straight at him, but he was all I could focus on. You've got no idea how it feels like, to be four months chasing after one person. Learning his whole stupid language from a week to another, retracing every single step that had been taken, taking all the steps that should have been taken, skipping your meals, skipping your naps... After all that, you did not just know how the person felt or what the person thought. You were that goddamn person. So chances were, regardless of what little evidence you were still to possess, you'd been right all along.

I'd wait. I'd been waiting for a long time. I would wait a few more minutes. My waiting would seem meaningless when compared to the sentence he'd probably be given.

The doctor called his name out loud. I became unsettled. Roger still hadn't returned. It was then or never.

I didn't want to admit it, but I did feel a bit sorry for Georg Wirth, in a way. I had his phone-calls taped the moment I set foot on Offenburg. I knew how much he'd been trying to get an appointment with the doctor, yet it was his well-grounded paranoia that kept him from actually making the call. So I waited. Because even if he didn't know it at the time, I did know myself that it was all a question of sitting and waiting for the moment when his pain had progressed to a point so far advanced, so unbearably infernal, that his confidence that he would be able to take it forever would crumble without a warning, thus making him pick up the phone and ask to get the God-condemned X-ray that would offer him the answer he seeked. He probably even convinced himself that it was rather irrational to think that someone would actually catch him because of his knee. Nobody had ever thought of that, so why now?  
Now, while under normal circumstances I'd say that was a quite prudent idea, because, what are the odds? I think at this point we're all free to think of the words "tough luck, pal". I imagined him getting up every morning, his pain becoming stronger by the day as the illusion that he would be able to take it decreased in a directly proportional manner. All that to wake up one night, pick up the phone, and make the call that would dig his own grave.

I don't think he ever imagined that a shot in his knee would have that kind of consequences. Specially considering (after the initial pain phase had ceased) that his knee hadn't really bothered him again considerably, at least not in the first year after Ebru Kowalk was murdered.

"Georg Wirth." Dr. Hueber called again.

He was only gonna get his leg x-rayed. He'd have to wait a few days for the results. Little did he know that he'd be arrested by then. I would make sure he got a note informing him that the cause of his pain was a degenerative arthritis. There was no need to keep him in pain _after_ he'd been caught.

He followed the doctor to the room he was appointed to. I got up as soon as the door was closed and stood behind it. I'd only have a few moments to do my thing. There would quite likely not be another chance.

To get x-rayed, Wirth would have to get rid of anything metal he was carrying with him. That is to say, he'd have to be separated for a few minutes, (regardless of how restless it'd make him), from the chainlet he'd stolen from the victim's neck after having killed her. If I had done a good job, then I knew that I'd find it somewhere among his belongings.

It is funny, because the police had actually thought of that. Countless warrants were obtained, all to no avail. They searched everywhere, and I mean- everywhere. They destroyed his mattress, his pipes, his trash. The chainlet was nowhere to be found. I wonder why it never occurred to them to search him. What better protection, what better a hiding place than himself? These people had obviously never read The Lord of the Rings, because otherwise they probably would have made the Gollum-connection in a heartbeat.

Poor devil, I thought as I searched his coat. By then, he had already gone on to the next room and was trying to follow the instructions the doctors gave him to get his X-ray right. That limp would get me the time I needed and more.

I found a bus ticket on his left pocket. It had cost him 2 euros to come from his home in Niederschopfheim to the city. It had probably cost him a whole lot more to walk up to the station.  
I put my hand on the right pocket.

My heart was pounding, I couldn't find the necklace.

Wirth was almost done with his scannings.

I took the coat and shook it like I'd gone batshit crazy. The chainlet was there. I knew it. I was right. It had to...

A metallic sound hitting the ground gave my existence the two longest seconds of glory it could ever experience. I picked it up.

Imagine winning a million pounds playing Bingo. Okay, good. Now imagine you win a million pounds playing Bingo eight times in a row. If you can somehow manage to picture what your face would look like, you probably can picture what mine did.

One word of Roger's and the police would enter the hospital, the evidence would be turned over and of our existence, nobody would know. I ran off to find him. For all I cared, I was going back home.


	11. Part I - Final Chapter: Grand Prix

**Grand consolation Prix**

Against what I'd promised Roger, I carried my bags to the front entrance and decided that I'd take them to my room later. Well... Maybe 'decided' wasn't exactly the word for it. I found them so uninteresting I simply forgot them down there.

I ran up the stairs before Roger could find out about my betrayal. It was Watari's office I stopped by first. I told myself whom I met first was irrelevant. That was, regardless of whether I fully believed it or not. I smiled to myself at the thought.

I knocked on Watari's door. This time I actually waited behind it, but nobody answered. See? What was even the point of it? To wait? Eager to see him, I opened the door and helped myself in. To my surprise, nobody was there. Strange. He must have known that I was coming back.

Figuring he'd probably come back soon, I decided to wait for him inside. I spent 20 minutes snooping around his books and playing with his desk's toys until I heard Ruvie's voice calling for me. Fearing he'd find me, I set off for L's bedroom.

It was only two floors up, but four months of sitting in front of maps, and recordings, and numbers, and German books (all that, of course, accompanied by a considerable amount of german sweets Roger would get me) made them seem more difficult to go up than I remembered. I reached the second floor panting. I wondered whether I should ask Watari to get me some swimming lessons, but I was afraid he'd drop me in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

I didn't knock on L's door. We didn't do that.

And then I found him, laying on L's bed, staring blankly at the ceiling with as much interest as if he'd been staring at the heart of the universe itself. He looked as if he'd been doing that for a while now, and just because I'd entered the room, it did not mean that his activity was to be interrupted.  
I begged to differ.

"Where's L?" I was almost even offended "And who are you?"

He didn't turn to me.

"A!" The voice was no longer ignorable.

Alright, alright.

"I'm here!" I surrendered.  
After taking his time to come up, Roger leaned out the door.  
"You must be Beyond." He wasn't talking to me.  
Whatever had distracted him of telling me off, it had to be important.

And then I remembered L telling me about "Beyond Something". I turned to him, this time with actual curiosity.

Beyond Something sat on the bed and turned to us. He analyzed Roger first, and then his sight moved slowly on to mine, which, to my own embarrassment, struck me more than it should have. I felt as if he was looking, not at me, but through me. I'd never been so aware of my own irrelevance in the past. Physically he was probably around my age... But those eyes. They were not as childish. They were not as eager to find out things, because they probably had already found them out before I'd even found a reason to be interested in them. With that gaze, he'd taken us both for granted. He'd told us there was nothing we could offer him that he could possibly find interesting. Ever.

I bit my thumb's fingernail, wondering whether that made me feel angry or simply curious.

I turned to Ruvie to see if he'd felt anything similar and I noticed he had already turned to me, a look that said 'help' across his face.

"I am." He replied to Roger.

The pause hadn't been long, but I had to retrace on all that had been said until that moment. I'd wandered off way too far inside my own brain.

It was very out of place, but I chuckled.

I stopped it the moment I remembered I was being observed.

'_I am_'. I repeated inside my head. It wasn't even funny.

Ruvie fixed his glasses and asked us to follow him.

Beyond got up and followed, not noticing me on his way out.

I held back from sticking my tongue out at him from behind. I feared he probably had a third eye behind all that hair. It was unlikely, but just to be sure I didn't. Only the paranoid survive. Or at least so I'd learnt recently.

Roger invited us to sit in the chairs in front of his desk. I did, Beyond didn't.

"They are gone." He told us, looking only at me. And then he stood silent for a while. He was just waiting for it. Quite in vain.

I tilted my head.

What was he...

"L and Watari left about a month ago to solve a case."  
Oh.  
"So when are they coming back?" I asked.  
Roger glanced at Beyond and then back at me.  
"They're not."

I tilted my head to the other side.

(Note: I don't know why I do that. However ridiculous, for some reason my brain keeps thinking it helps it think. Think and let think.)

"What are they not?" I asked further.  
"They're not coming back." He told me.  
"Yes, I got that." I was upset that he wasn't understanding me clearly "But once they're done with the case, when are they coming back?"  
It was he the one that got upset next.  
"A," He cried "for crying out loud! Neither of them are coming back. Who knows, maybe one day they'll stop by, but, by definition, they are not coming back."

I sat back.  
No...  
Absolutely not.  
From all of the things they'd kept a secret from me, I w...  
...I remembered L warning me about how there were many things I wouldn't understand. Possibly more than once.

I looked at Roger furiously.

He sat back, calming down. I smelled shame.  
Shame, because he knew it was in my very own right to be upset. He knew he had no business getting mad over anything, ever. Apparently, in the four months that we'd been living together, he never thought that it would be a good idea to even inform me of... Well, anything.

I fought the urge to spit. Even for me that was just bad, but I had this strange sensation growing in my mouth.

I stood up and wandered around the room.

"This is, however, not everything I have to inform you two about." He went on. I suddenly remembered there was a third person in the room "As of now, L has been trained and educated to become, if not the best, one of the best detectives that there has ever and will be." He sounded proud about himself "It has come his time to put his abilities into practice. Both Watari and I agreed that he was ready. Of course we couldn't just set L loose on the world, so Watari opted to go with him."

As much as it hurt, I was not to forget that, after all, Watari had taken as much a part in this as Roger. Some part of me wished I could blame Roger for everything, but that wouldn't have been right either way.

"While they're out, I'll be in charge of running the Wammy's House, but not only that: I was entrusted with both your educations in particular. That is to say, I will focus on making sure you receive as much as you need to develop your own abilities, specially in regards to this matter."

"What matter?" I asked. My heart was punching its way through my sternum. And if it succeeded I was sure it would punch Roger Ruvie in the face.

A condescending tone replied to me.  
"Don't you see it? We're the back-up."

I turned to face Beyond fiercely, an eyebrow raised. He didn't seem moved by it. Nor did I care what he thought.

He kindly explained.

"We're supposed to stay here and keep on 'improving' ourselves. If L dies, there's us."

If L dies.  
"Well, at least one of us." He shrugged "And then if that one dies, then there will come another. That way it's not L who really dies, it's, well... You get the idea don't you?"

He had spoken with the frankness Ruvie had been avoiding all along.  
I turned to Ruvie.

"So you're saying that I've got to sit here and play cards with this guy until my best friend dies," It was accidental that I'd referred to L as my best friend, but at that point, it really wasn't the point " to then occupy his place."  
Ruvie stood silent.

I looked at Beyond. My face was asking whether he was really okay with all that. His face didn't show an answer.

I wasn't a student, I was a subject, an experiment.

"You're not the only one who'd lose a friend" Ruvie told me gravely.  
I understood whom he was talking about. If Watari should die, Ruvie would be the next to be called that.

I stayed quiet. My head went to the stratosphere and made it back to Earth safely. Well, sort of. I laughed, I shrugged, I left.


	12. Part II - Chapter I: Know your Enemy

**Know your enemy**

I thought about doing something radical like a hunger strike or something but... Nobody on Earth would have ever possibly taken that threat seriously. Hey, maybe I was smart, but I was still fourteen years old after all. Ah yes, I forgot to mention I'd turned fourteen in Germany. Coldest. Birthday. Ever.

I decided that I'd take a few days to cool off and think things through. Which was 'mature' for 'I decided that I'd take a few days to hate on everybody, because life was unfair and... goddamn'.

I think I did have a point to discuss nonetheless. The problem was, that I was so upset that I was in no condition of holding a decent discussion with anybody. I rationalized it saying there was nobody to discuss it with, even when I did pretty cowardly refuse to answer a phone-call from Watari.

I didn't leave my room for a week for more than it was absolutely necessary (pissing on my flowers wasn't an option). Somebody, (presumably from the kitchen's staff under Ruvie's orders), would leave a tray with food by my door to make sure I got my meals. I would later return it emptied. It was the poshiest revolt ever.

I went down to have breakfast on the eight day, which was a Saturday, and I have to say that I did not find it helpful at all to see an intruder in my favourite table. I had only to wait and see who it was.  
But of so very course. Who else?

I grabbed my plate, filled it with food and sat across him.  
"This is my table." I complained politely, looking outside.

Beyond turned a page of the book he was reading, never lowering it. I was obviously not as important as it was. Under normal circumstances I would have probably not been too bothered about an attitude of this kind: the deal breaker was the fact that he was reading 'Pride and Prejudice'. He was basically telling me (or anybody who'd intend to approach him), that Elizzie's love problems were more important to him than anything we could ever have to tell him. Which would have been really funny if not for the fact that I wasn't exactly too fond of him.

"Why? Does it have your name on it?"  
Actually...  
"Actually, yes." My tone had involuntarily changed from 'polite hostility' to 'amusement'. Sometimes I lost focus of my feelings. I reminded myself that he was the enemy.

He lowered his book enough so that I would meet his gaze. It no longer bothered me as much. Or at least that's what I wanted to believe. He put his book aside and I showed him a Gothic 'A' I had patiently carved through my days at the Wammy's House. He inevitably laughed at the horror that my face expressed when I noticed how tiny it looked when compared to a 'B' that had been carved next to it. It was also cleaner and obviously better done. He had probably spent a lot of time there.  
Then I noticed he'd laughed. From his face I gathered that, apparently, that had come off as shock to both of us. We went back to each other's business; I went back to chewing, he went back to reading. Who owned the table no longer mattered...

(...Because it was mine.)

After an hour or so everyone had left the canteen except for us. He continued to deliberately read in front of my face while I annoyed him with my presence. I wasn't too sure it was actually working? I wanted to believe it was.

"So?" I broke the silence after 24 minutes had passed "What do you make of all this?"

He indifferently asked me to define 'this'.

I meant the Wammy's House. I meant the discussion I'd had with Ruvie.  
He shrugged.

"You don't have thoughts about it? Blimey." I looked outside the window, overly-disappointed.  
"I do." He told me "I just think you're looking for someone to tell you that you're right. And you're wrong."  
"Believe me," I was openly offended "right now there is nothing that I'd like better than to be proved wrong."  
"Oh?" He lowered his book, an eyebrow raised. It was the first time he seemed curious about me. I was not sure I liked that "Is that so?" He drew nearer.

I stared into his face blatantly without blinking. How bigger a 'yes' could he get.

"Fair enough." He nodded convinced "When you met Watari, did he put a gun in your face and smuggled you off your country to bring you here?"

I bit my lip a bit annoyed by the exaggeration but I shook my head.

"Did he ask you whether you wanted to come?"  
"Yes, but there were many things that I didn't know..." I complained.  
"Okay, so," He made an overdone, sarcastic expression of wonder "why did you come then?"  
I thought about it.  
"He kept talking about having found a place for 'people with my abilities'."  
"Was he lying?"  
"No, but..."  
"So, in principle, we can agree that he didn't lie to you." I agreed a bit reluctantly. I feared he'd stretch his arguments beyond acceptable.  
"But how was I supposed to know, say, that from one day to another my name would be 'A'? Or that I'd be trained to become a detective? To supplant a friend when he died?"  
He took his time. I waited patiently.  
"While it is true that you weren't informed about some things... It was still you the one who made a choice knowingly uninformed of them." He started "Yes, I agree with you that it was impossible that you could have expected all that... And yet, Watari was very limited regarding the information he could give you upon first meeting you due to the whole secrecy involving this place. If you're half as smart as you need to be to get here, then you were aware that there were things he was not telling you from the start..." He paused.  
I used the pause to realize he was making sense. I let him continue.  
"Again, he never forced you to choose anything. He always gave you an option. You were four months in Germany from what I understand."  
I confirmed it.  
"Why did you go?"  
I explained why.

"...But he knew that I wouldn't refuse..." I tried to argument, knowing what he'd say next. Knowing he'd be right.  
"Yes, and you know why? Because he was keeping up to his word. That he used your interests... How is that no good? How isn't it good that he should seek for you to boost your abilities in what you excel at?"

I mentally stammered. I paused, I let my head rest over my palm.  
I asked him about that which concerned supplanting L. Why did we have to take that?

"A, again, nobody is forcing you. If you don't want to do it, you have only to inform Mr. Ruvie about it and you'll be commended to other types of classes or whatever. Maybe you'll become a successful artist, you'll know better. The competition to supplant L will be between me and some other letter of the alphabet." He pulled half a grin.  
I looked at him, thinking hardly.  
"But you really did enjoy those four months of chase in Germany, didn't you?" He said after a while.  
How did he know?  
He smiled knowing he'd nailed it. I nodded to follow a conversational protocol.  
"So you see, I think in the end, the competition between us stands."  
"But, what if I don't want to supplant L... What if I want to help him?" I wondered, half hoping.  
"Well, what makes you think he needs your help in the first place?"  
"B, simple arithmetic." I pointed out.  
"Well, what if you both get killed? Who would cover for that?"  
"But why do we have to live fearing we could get killed?"  
"The world is a dangerous place. Specially for the good guys." He marked, half amused.  
I rolled my eyes over.  
"Are you comfortable living under his shadow? Becoming his back-up, not his equal?"  
"I never mentioned the word equal." He said gravely.  
"What? Are you better than him?" I teased.  
He didn't respond. He thought so.  
"If you live to become him, who will know?" I asked him "Who will care?"  
He shrugged.  
"It seems to me this discussion will take longer than a coffee-chat to be resolved."  
"We have time." I assured.


	13. Part II - Chapter II: Dark

**Dark**

He called at 3 in the morning because of the timelines. However, I thought it was funny that he should have known I'd be awake at that time. Ruvie was doing his job, giving each of us three cases. So I wasn't really sleeping.

I was a case away of being done with my homework. I didn't know whether B knew about this, but I kept track of his activities too. He was still on the second.

Roger leaned out the door to tell me to pick up the phone on Watari's desk and left. He scared the hell out of me because, like usual, it was raining like a motherlover outside. There was a hell-uva-storm too. Put that together with the fact that I was massively concentrated, and it's not hard to figure that when I raised my sight to find Ruvie's head leaning out the door at 3 AM., every 'Boogeyman' story came flooding back to my head.

He did that sometimes, Roger. He always looked serious but I was sure he did that for his own amusement. Strange people have a strange sense of humor. Wammy kids laughed at the oddest motherloving things.

I'm not really thinking of the word 'lover' each time I type that. I'm just saying so that we're on the same page. Anyway, moving on...

My eyes widened, wondering about all that could be, should be, would be and wouldn't be said. I realized I was probably keeping him waiting so I stood up and marched down to his office.

It felt like I hadn't been there in over a month. It was dark and the rain was hitting those big windows of his most beautifully, most melodically. Bit like crystal, but I didn't really know. Oh, another thunder. Kill me softly if you so please.

I thought to turn on the lights would have disturbed something unnamed, so I walked up to his desk in the dark, feeling the carpet under my feet as I went.

I sat on Watari's chair and, noticing it was too big for me, I picked up the phone.

"Hello?" I sounded like I didn't really trust the fact that Watari was on the other side.  
"Why hello, A, dear. How's Roger treating you?" It was him indeed.

I shrugged, forgetting the fact that he couldn't see me.

"You know Roger better than anyone else." I replied.

He chuckled and I chuckled with him.

Another thunder lit up the whole room for a second, showing its divan and chairs, its books and its paintings.

"It's raining a lot." I said.  
"You're in my office?" He asked.  
"Yup." I told him.  
"It's quite a spectacle, isn't it?"

I looked behind me, wondering if the rain was going to take everything that was good on this Earth with it. I sat calmly, watching it hit our garden's plants, watching it hit the windows and the streetlamps beyond our territory. I couldn't really see the streetlamps but the blurred light far ahead was all the clue I needed.

"Mhm." I exhaled admiringly.

For a moment I felt that he was there in the room with me. We shared silence as to observe the rain do its thing. I wondered if he was remembering how rain looked like from his office. I wondered if he missed the Wammy's House. I wondered if he missed me.

"I heard you've been feeling a bit upset about some things." He then mentioned.

I looked down, I exhaled, producing some kind of stormy-like noise over the phone.

"Yeah." I admitted it, a bit amused. I found my own childishness kinda funny.  
"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked me.

I thought about it. B had taken care of clarifying on that, at least for the most part. And since he didn't really care about me and viceversa, I could trust his argumentation to be objective. I still had mixed feelings about some things, but those were a question of introspection. I'd have to figure them out myself.

"No." I replied honestly, not brusquely.

He took a moment.

"Oh..." He remembered "I never got to hear about your trip to Germany! Not from you at least... Kannst du jetzt gut Deutsch sprechen?" He asked me, with a funny accent, whether I now could speak German alright.  
"Jap."

'Yup'. Possibly the biggest proof of fluency in that language. Goethe and associates were probably twisting in hell, wondering what they'd done wrong.

"How did it go? How did you feel?"  
I wondered how I'd felt.  
"Dark."  
"Dark? In what sense?"

I tried to explain.  
"I don't know if I meant it negatively. No, not negatively. Just... dark, I suppose." I'd have to do a better job than that "I mean- I chased Wirth for months. I knew everything about him. I knew he'd killed Ebru Kowalk. I knew it an it upset me that I had to wait so long..." I became more eager to talk "I had this feeling inside of me, inside my chest, my throat... I was mad, and I was amused at the same time. I felt like I was waiting for my pray to turn itself to me, because I had the obvious advantage. Because I was going to win..." I exhaled. For a moment, I realized that I was in the dark, and that my only company was the rain "And, I guess some part of me thought I'd feel differently about it. Because, I did feel sorry for him, at some point. But I was also oh so fulfilled to bust the f.. brother."

I heard him smile over the phone. Yes, I can hear smiles. Got a problem with that?

"So... I guess I felt really dark. Dark, because it felt good... And then a bit empty." I concluded, wondering if I'd managed to put it correctly.

"Are you feeling empty now?"

A part of me woke up. I thought about it.  
"No, not particularly... Not in this sense." I replied surprised.

Then I realized why he was asking. I was still working on a case Roger had given me. I was filling that newly found need with another distraction.

"Watari." I asked, playing with his drawers' knobs.  
"Yes?"  
"Does this make me a bad person?"  
I heard him exhale.  
"No, A. Not at all."  
"I felt..." I then added "Like I was in my place."  
It was true then. Watari hadn't lied to me.  
"Thank you." I told him.  
"It's not you who has to thank me." He said. He sounded a bit, well, I wouldn't say sad, but, a bit like it, yes? It wasn't just mere politeness.

I asked him where they were. Somewhere in Canada.

"Can I talk to L?" I requested.

I heard him exhale again.  
"Not now, dear."  
Why wasn't I too surprised?  
"He's working."  
"Yeah, I probably should be too." I said.  
"Goodnight, A."  
"Aufwiedersehen."

He took a second and then hung up the phone.  
I was alone in the dark.


	14. Part II - Chapter III: Beyond All

**Beyond All Brought Balance**

Violent, rash, delicate, passionate.  
Too patient and too eager. Arrogant. Wonderfully arrogant.

He hit the keys like he was pressing my own heart. And not metaphorically, it actually ached. Somehow.

One Sunday morning I woke up to the sound of what I correctly thought was Chopin's Fantaisie Impromptu.

I ran out of bed. Changing my pijama (if a T-shirt and sweat pants count as such) had never been a priority, and that day wasn't an exception. I ran the stairs down to find out what was going on.  
I checked about four incorrect rooms before I saw him. Ruvie was standing behind him, proudly. I didn't notice how effortlessly I was enchanted into sitting down by the door. I was too busy trying to figure out what I was supposed to feel.

He stopped abruptly, bringing me back to reality, into thoughts, into reason.  
Who was Beyond Something?

"Yes, this will do." He said quietly, turning to Ruvie. He was smiling exaggeratedly at him in return. I felt like he would have loved to put a stamp on his face that said 'Brought to you by Wammy and co.'  
"...You can go now." He informed Ruvie after a while.

Roger tried to hold his smile and, to be honest, he succeeded. It was however the creepiest face I'd seen in a while. And to say I was seeing dead bodies on a daily basis.

I wanted to chuckle but I wondered if, upon noticing my presence, B'd kick me out too. With nothing more to say, Ruvie left through the door across mine. The second he was gone, another of Chopin's pieces, a waltz this time, (Op. 69 no. 2 if you so care), took absolute control of the room.

In another occasion I would have thought an idea of the kind would have been beyond ridiculous, but, at that moment, I knew he was the bringer of balance. Everything blended into perfect harmony. His perfection was indisputable.

It hurt me and it made me happy. It made me admire him and it made me feel jealous of him. It made me hate him and...

The piece had come to an end. I woke up when I noticed he wasn't playing anymore.

I could see his feet from where I was sitting. He was still at the piano, he just wasn't playing.

"Why did you stop?" I became uneasy.  
Shit.

"I was waiting for the applause." No surprise in his voice.  
"Since when do we have a piano?" I inquired.  
No answer.  
I sighed. Slowly.  
I applauded.

To be honest my applause sucked. I would have given him a standing ovation if it wasn't for the fact that I was either too proud or too shy. Or both.

It was, however, enough.

"Since today." He leaned out so I could see his face. He started playing a playful melody with his right hand, looking at me, not the keyboard "Do you play, A?" When his left hand joined, I recognized yet another of Chopin's waltzes: op. 64 no.1.

The whole showing off wasn't just about arrogance. He meant, on one side, to show me whom I was dealing with, and he meant on the other to learn whom he was dealing with.

I walked up to where he was and sat by him. He found a way to make place for me without disrupting his melody.

I hadn't played that one since...  
I remembered living with the Bordas.  
I positioned my hands above the space where his were moving.

"Whenever you're ready."  
His eyebrows slightly raised.  
"Whenever _you_'re ready." He mocked me.

And, without a warning, he removed his hands so that mine would replace them. We stared at each other, the music went on undisturbed. I smirked. He looked disappointed.

I returned my gaze at the keyboard, laughing. I shook my head and kept on playing.

Quarrels between geniuses are not so different from normal quarrels. The only difference is that, instead of hitting each other's faces with our fists, we hit each other's prides with our talents. But, ultimately, it's quite delightful. I hadn't had a real challenger since...

I remembered when L lived at the Wammy's House.

I finished what he'd started and turned to see my rival.

Instead of the vexed complexions I was hoping to find, he denied me that pleasure, looking at the keys and then back at me, puzzled.

Why? Was puzzled good or bad?  
He started playing something I thought I recognized. Better late than never, but it was Mozart's piano sonata, K358. It's meant to be played with four hands, so I joined him, which felt like the strangest thing to do in the world.

Synchronicity, of course, is required for two players to play a piece of the kind. But it really goes a bit farther than that. It's about fitting together perfectly. Of connecting, of understanding and knowing. B and I were nothing at all like that. Talking to him, even being in the same room with him felt like a constant battle, a proof, a threat even. His presence made me too aware of my thoughts. He was the living memory of that fact that I was A, not Amelia.

It was because of all that, that the fact that the piece was coming out exceptionally good was marked out as an absolute anomaly, a contradiction in my brain. The problem is that contradictions don't exist.  
By his face, I knew he was just as surprised as I was.

It was then that I started putting a bit too much pressure on the keys. It didn't sound bad, it just started to sound like two different pieces.

After a point, it was inevitable that I noticed my left arm and the joints between my thumbs and indexes hurt. I stopped playing before the end, aware of my own pain. I saw my fingers were red. I hadn't played in a goddamn while.

Beyond, undisturbed, finished his part.

He turned to me.

I clapped.

* * *

_In case anybody is interested in the pieces written about, or would like to get an idea of them, I got you the links to facilitate you the whole searching process :)_

**_Chopin's pieces_**  
_-Fantaisie Impromptu:_  
_ watch?NR=1&v=75x6DncZDgI&feature=fvwp_  
_-Waltz Op.69 No.2:_  
_ watch?v=cxG-kOTMgaA_  
_-Waltz Op. 64 No. 1:_  
_ watch?v=OoX6ZTUd3Vo_

**_Mozart's_**  
_Sonata for Piano four hands in B-flat, K358_  
_ watch?v=jA2DUCdoMU4_

* * *

_Finally, I'd like to thank my reviewers! :D They really mean much more than you think :)_


	15. Part II - Chapter IV: Monster

**Monster**

Regardless of how ignored I thought I was, I eventually learnt (thanks to a very polite drawing sent under my door), that I was popularly known throughout the Wammy's House as "The Princess". While this might sound rather positive to you, the reasons after this nickname were actually quite far from it.

Apparently I was perceived as being childish, whiny and self-absorbed, among a handful of other synonym adjectives listed alphabetically. They'd probably sat down with a dictionary and all. Roger was also repudiated for giving us, (B and I), special treatment. I suppose my one week strike didn't do much for my image after all, either. Hey, I did it for da cause.

Maybe they'd nailed it with the nickname after all. I liked the little crown they'd drawn. If only they'd gotten my nose right...

Putting the picture away, I chuckled and sat on the floor. I didn't really care what they thought, I told myself. I lifted my sight as to look through the window, but only the roof was visible. I felt the desire to talk to L.  
I sighed.

I remembered I'd have to see B that day too. I would have bitten my nails, but there were no longer any more nails to bite on. I looked at my own hands, a bit disgusted.

"What have you done to yourself, A?" I exhaled.

The piano exchange I'd had with B had left me a bit uneasy. It'd been too private. Too insightful. I didn't like 'too privates' or 'too insightfuls'.

Shrugging, I asked myself what insight I had given him.  
He knows nothing, I told myself, and, drowning my face in a pillow, I decided to cut the crap.

I went to the bathroom across my room and followed the routine: brush my teeth, wash my face, do clean people stuff.

I spent the morning in the library learning all about explosives. By midday I'd figured how to make bombs with household items. If as of now you're wondering why I did this, then I must say that I'm proud of you for being a responsible and sensible citizen, and that I'm also disappointed at your lack of evil and sense of fun.  
But after a while into it, it got boring. I returned the pile of books I'd asked the librarian to get me, commenting on how gratifying my learning had been. I think, in the first place, I'd probably done it just to see his face become troubled.

After those, I asked him to get me a few books on the Jacobin Terror. I already knew quite a lot about it, but it was one of those moments in history that I kept on re-reading. Maybe a bit for the morbo, maybe to get myself pissed off. I didn't know why, but, whatever it was, it would always remain interesting.

I read about it until I no longer could stand the feeling of betrayal I got from Robespierre. I shivered at the idea of living in a society like his.

He'd once been a defender of the human rights, a worthy democrat. Smart, prudent, a role model. Someone I admired. That was, until I kept on reading and learnt how, with the years, he kinda started to lose it, killing off basically anybody who was (supposedly) "a traitor of the Revolution". At the end, I think it was his own megalomania that consumed him. How was it that someone that had once thought like him become such...

By the time I'd noticed, it was raining. It must have been around 5 PM. God, was I craving food or what?

The library and the canteen were on opposite sides of the building. The big garden separated them. Of course, I could have done the normal thing and walked around it, but normal and I had apparently never really hit it off.  
I walked under the rain, naively believing my arms would actually help reduce the water-damage. I gave up midway and started running, careful so as not to fall, another thing I excelled at.

I reached the little roof and the windows that showed the canteen, which I regrettingly remembered would by then be empty. Who would open the door from inside?

Luckily for me, I couldn't have been more wrong, because when I noticed, it was B who was opening the one door from inside, so allowing me so enter. Yeah, well, 'lucky' had become more of an ambiguous term.

We looked at each other obviously clueless about what either of us was doing there.

"Your Highness." He bowed sarcastically after a while.

On a normal day I would have liked to hit him, but it was funny. I thought he was the only one whom I'd rather have laughed about it with anyway. I replied with a curtsy.

I shivered surprised by the sudden change of temperatures and wiped the rain off my face and neck as best as I could. My hair, I fit into a bun with the help of a pen.

B was already back to his reading, sitting by our table.  
I entered the kitchen knowing that nobody would be there and went directly to the fridge.

"Care for some lemon pie?" I asked him.  
I didn't hear him reply.  
"Well, suit yourself." I said under my breath.  
I chose to bring him a piece either way. It's just not human not to share a lemon pie.

I sat down, gave him his plate and started eating, regardless of whether he did or not.

"What are you reading?" I asked mid-cake.  
It was a comic, apparently in Japanese. Had he always been fluent in it or had he learnt it here? Or was he sent to Japan while I was out? He didn't look too japanese to me.

His eyes lifted recognizing my question, and then went back to the pages.

"Akazukin Chacha." He replied.  
"What is that?"  
"Only like the best manga ever created." He replied in a good mood. Figuring I could use more information, he added that it was something he used to love reading as a child.

So he could speak Japanese for a while now. I made a note inside my head.

"Are you gonna eat that?" I asked after a while, staring at his piece of cake.  
He didn't reply so my hand went for it. In a single ninja move, it got brutally slapped.  
"I never said no." A mischievous tone. He was the absolute worst.

I looked at him thoughtfully. Upon noticing, he asked what it was.  
"You're a monster." I told him.  
He chuckled, and, after a more detailed analysis, quietly replied:  
"I'm afraid so."

I smiled, I'd thought out loud.  
"No, last day I mean..." I was looking at his long, pale fingers and trying to remember how they'd moved so gracefully across the piano, not playing it, owning it. Previous to that event it would have been hard to imagine, but upon watching how his right hand lazily changed a page, I thought it was hard to imagine it doing anything else. He'd belonged there, melting, blending with the music "I hated you." I confessed "Passionately."

As negative as that might sound, it usually has a different connotation in Genius.

"Thank you." He smiled, this time more earnestly "I disliked you too."  
'Disliked' me? HA.  
"I'll make you say my name three times before you die... Peasant."  
I found the idea pleasing.

He genuinely laughed. And this time I joined.  
We shared silence, carefully gazing at each other. What we were considering in all exactitude, I didn't know.  
I looked out the window to praise how the rain was slightly hitting the bushes on our side.

"Best enemies?"  
He took his time. When I turned, he had his hand extended.  
"Best enemies." He said, shaking mine.


	16. Part II - Chapter V: Clearly Suicidal

**Clearly suicidal**

Regardless of how big of an academic progress I'd done (if you had in mind the shameless waste of oxygen I'd been in my time in Argentina), before B, we could say I hadn't really been living up to my limit.

While when given cases I would be focused past human terms, I was always aware that, if I actually tried and put my time to an use, my results would be far beyond un-achievable. I guess sometimes you're just born lazy. Or disinterested.

To me, to know I was able to do it if I wanted to was enough. That was a trait that got me a bit disliked among 'my peeps'. They would give their bests, striving hard to do what was asked of them and they would have most definitely, without a doubt have killed me if that would have ensured them to be in the place I was. I, on the other side, was put in the same classes as them simply because I would frequently skip class or sleep until noon. I read a lot, but my readings weren't always necessarily connected to my classes (it's not my fault that 'Where's Waldo?' wasn't a subject. In my defense, do you know how helpful an exercise that can be? Impressive stimulus, I say. A method I openly and proudly admit having used for cases).

And to make things worse, because Watari was alright with this, Ruvie had to grudgingly allow it.  
They sort of saw it as a way to waste myself and not appreciate what I had or, worse, not appreciate the hard work they were putting to be where they were. I was the hateful, napping hare, while the patient tortoises were waiting implausibly to beat me at a race. In Hemingway terms, what they did, I could do drunk.

And, quite on the contrary to their beliefs, I did admire them for their hard work. I myself, no matter how hard I tried, couldn't have done it, not at least without a real motive or interest. There laid the fundamental difference between us. They did things because they were told. I did them because I was either interested in them or not.

However, with the appearance of B, the situation required it that I changed my standards, if slightly. Whenever I caught sight of him studying in a corner or all concentrated on some problem, this, well not fear, but this fear would hit me that I was no longer facing a tortoise, but another hare. And the question was no longer about my own self-confidence, it was about the confidence that I had in him. He was good. So I'd have to be better.

Oddly enough, I'd never really had that feeling when I was with L. I'd never even had the chance to question his mind, not in a competitive sense at least. And neither did I intend to. With L, we had this deeper understanding that would go, underneath a layer of prolonged silences, in the same direction. It wasn't about blocking each other's paths, it was about unblocking them. And then this guy shows up, B, admittedly believing to himself that he was better than L. In all honesty, I could not understand why this bothered me as it did, but I felt it was my duty to prove him wrong. To teach him not to underestimate someone I thought so magnificent, by first teaching him not to underestimate a scumbag like me. It was not my motive to supplant or succeed L. It was to prolong him. To honor him.

So I started studying, researching about every topic we were given and were still to be given in any class I was in. I'd take turns of three days to study for each subject non-stoppedly. Things like math or chemistry ended up taking less time, so it was about a month later that I was asking Ruvie to get me all the necessary tests to get me into more advanced courses.

I'd remember about how I'd once spent seven hours answering multiple-choice questions, thinking about how oh, those were the days.

I woke up the morning when it was all said and done. My body was tired, numb. I had to remind my own blood it had to run through my veins and arteries, and then my heart to pump it. It would seem as if every vital organ had decided to take a leave of absence. It was cold and dangerous outside my sheet-world. I just wanted to stay in bed.

I slowly removed the bedcovers to allow my face to breathe.  
Bah, mornings.

I laid in my bed repeating, unintelligibly, the words '5 more minutes' in the languages I knew. I liked meeting the image of my bedroom's ceiling when I woke up, though. At the center of it there was this (beautiful, but) exaggerate decoration that had 'pretentious architect was here' written all about it. From it hung a chandelier. It would everyday give me a feeling of waking up some time in the past. Well, that was the whole of the Wammy's House now that I think about it. Maybe I just liked my ceiling in particular.

The light reflecting on it was more colourful than it had been on the past days. It'll be sunny today, I knew. And, followed by an exaggerate sigh, I uncovered my body and got out of bed. I didn't want to miss my first day of putting an effort. Although fighting for that idea was harder than I thought it'd be, specially when I had my unmade bed professing its love for me as tried to change, fast, because it was cold.

Almost sleep walking, I made my way to the classroom without getting myself injured. Well, as far as life and death injuries are concerned. Checking my schedule, I opened the door and entered. It was dark and empty. Probably because class wasn't meant to start for at least another 20 minutes.  
"Stop it, Bigbird. I'm not afraid of you anymore." I tried to face my legendary enemy, but he seemed immune to my threats: the son of a bitch kept pecking my head and pulling my hair.

A manic laughter distracted me off my dream.

I jumped, hitting my legs against my desk. But of course.

I looked around, not remembering where I was. Then the memory came back to me that I'd thought closing my eyes for a bit was a good idea. The whole thing about adjusting to mortal sleeping cycles was affecting me.

I looked up to find B. The classroom was still dark. No other people were around.

I raised an eyebrow, confused.

"Where's everybody?"  
"Everybody?" A pile of books was dropped over my desk, almost busting my arm in the way "Just you and me today, princess."

I glared at him, involuntarily cracking an evil grin.

"We don't have regular class?"

He turned a desk so that it would be facing mine, seemingly not caring about how much noise it made in the way. I guessed he was the kind of person to whom the end justified the means.

"Not on Sundays." He replied once he'd sat down.  
"You're kidding." The horror.  
"No, they do not get paid to work on weekends." He blinked.

I smashed my head against my desk.  
Why, God. Of all people, why pick on an orphan?

"Are you feeling ill?" He asked with that heavily confusing sarcasm of his.

I heard him take a book and search for a specific page.  
I felt the bags under my eyes with the tips of my fingers. This was not fair. I wanted to have words with the mystical entity in charge of writing the script of my life.

"Why are you here on a Sunday anyways?"

He lifted his eyes and kept on reading.  
I watched him do it until realized that while he was reading, I was watching him read. And that, hadn't it been for the fact that I'd been unaware that it was a Sunday, while he was now reading, I would have been sleeping.

This guy was playing rough.

I picked a book from his pile decidedly and started to read.

This is basically how our weekends started to go on from then on. After a while we'd steal a few thermos with coffee and sweets to have there while studying. The brain is glucose-dependent, so we'd basically use that to over-indulge our craving for sugar. It was a fact, after all. As for why we'd be so obsessed with them, I couldn't really point it out. Maybe the fact that we stayed up late was also another factor, given that it increases sugar cravings. Who knows. I just like to eat stuff.

I know how it could seem a bit sick or abusive, though, what we were doing to ourselves. Very specially having in mind how much the competition element was present. However, I must point out that I'm not particularly traumatized by it. In fact, I think I couldn't have spent my time in any other way that I would have found better or more enriching. I'm very grateful to B, because, hadn't it been for him I... I don't know. I think he played, if not a leading, at least a very important part in the development of my own persona. I found myself wanting to learn not just for the sake of beating B but for the sake of beating myself.

And then there were our debates. We had many interesting opinion exchanges that would sometimes end up in the craziest of ramblings. With the time, my personality started to blend in better with B's once our characters started to figure each other's out.

Except for the obvious change in my studying manners and how and whom I started to spend my time with, I didn't really notice I had 'changed' much. But I guess the bits and pieces of rumors that I started to catch around the corridors should have been of help.

While some attributed my stillness to my being overly-arrogant, some started saying that I'd been pushing myself too hard and that I was obviously not doing well. That the pressure of the Wammy's House was too much for me. I know it does sound like some got actually concerned but you know how people can be at times. Maybe they cared, maybe they thought they cared. But the way I saw it, they were just taking sides on a situation that wasn't taking place on the first place.

For the first time I saw some of them go out of their way to include me in their activities. My refusals were either because I thought they were inferior worthless pieces of shit or because I was going batshit insane and possibly too busy planning my suicide due on Saturday. I knew I was a creative individual, but that level of imagining stuff was beyond my reach. Seriously, I was nothing but alright.  
Completely oblivious on my side, maybe it was my fondness of climbing the roof that got some of them permanently altered. It was on one Sunday that I decided not to do my share of extra studying and instead to watch Winchester from above.

The air was cooler. I breathed in, pleased. When I opened my eyes again I noticed some streets, buildings in the horizon, trees, birds. The sound of other cars, I suddenly became aware of it. It'd be quite ignorable when you were stuck between the walls of the Wammy's House. Well, 'stuck'. You know what I mean.

Half an hour or so later, B was leaning out the balcony with a cup of tea in his hands. The delicacy in his manner was astonishing, but more than anything, amusing.

"This is not doing wonders for your image." He took a noisy sip.

I yawned and then shrugged.  
"Why aren't you studying?" I asked curiously "Killing yourself to beat me?"  
"Oh? Funny." He put his cup in its little plate. He took a napkin from his pocket and, after cleaning his mouth, returned it to its original placing "I was wondering the same thing. Given that I'm not the one sitting on the roof," He pointed out with a graceful movement of his hand "I thought I'd have the priority to have my question answered first."  
"I've learnt never to rely on priorities." I smiled.  
He nodded, thoughtfully. Silence. Except for a few tea sips.

"Play for me." I surrendered to the idea that had been going around my mind for days. Weeks.  
He didn't seem to have understood what I meant. In reality he did, he just wanted to hear it from me again, and I wasn't in a position to bargain.  
"I said that I want you to play the piano for me."  
"For you?"

I nodded.  
He smirked.

"What's in it for me?"

It was a fair question.

"Having in mind the kind of math you solve on daily basis, you'll think of something."

He pondered on it and found himself thinking that my statement made its share of sense.  
He looked up again, shrugging.

"Okay, then." He took another sip from his tea "What do you like?"

I took a last peek at Winchester, wondering. I smiled, not quite a chuckle.  
"Surprise me." I looked down.


	17. Part II - Chapter VI: B is B

**B is B**

I had every newspaper bought. Germany, Spain, Italy, Portugal, you name it. L was calling out for attention everywhere he went and, chasing around his cases, regardless of how far away we were, (me in my little bedroom in Winchester and him around the globe), felt a bit like tagging along, like checking on him. Even if I could only get to grasp bits of his shadow as he swayed around.

Of course neither of those papers said who was responsible for putting out which fire, nor did they speak of any 'anon' solving their country's police cases, imagine how shameful. But his particular watermark was there where he went and I was sure I couldn't be the only one who'd noticed. He was probably the hottest topic among other private detectives, police forces or conspiracy theorist lovers. I smiled a bit proudly knowing they'd be imagining this urban legend's face and pointlessly wondering whom he was, while I had only to remember.

I heard a knock on the door and put the newspapers away.

"Yes?"  
"Are you changed already?" Roger asked.  
"Yes." If 'changed' meant 'Are you still on your pijamas?'  
"Can I come in?"

I smiled, almost giggling.  
"No."

He sighed. I got up and opened the door enough so that my eyes were visible.

"What is it?" I inquired. I had a subtle aristocratic voice tone to indulge my own stupid humor.  
"L has called."

I opened the door, dropping my nonsense.  
"He's what?"

He made a strange face as if saying there was more to it but he really didn't want to use his words to explain. Or maybe I was just imagining things. I followed him downstairs anyway, and we entered, as unexpected as it was to me, not his office, but a hall. Other kids were there too; so was B, who, leaning on a wall apart from the rest, acknowledged my presence with a slight bow of the head.

I fixed my robe and ran a hand through my hair. I'd probably need a shower after whatever was going on.

As I approached the conglomeration, I noticed the children were speaking into a computer. In the computer screen there was a big Cloister Black L. Ah yes, I knew my calligraphy now.

I heard his voice. It was a bit changed, but it was his voice nonetheless. He was in the middle of what I imagined it to be the answer to a question. It was some rambling about one if his cases in Belgium. I had been gathering many a comment to make him about it but it was something in the scene that kept me from doing so.

On one side, there were other people present. On the other side, those people were raising their hands to speak in turns.

I turned to B to see if he understood what I thought. He was distracted by the show.

Because, that's sort of what it was, really. A show. A Q and A. If I had ever meant to talk to L again, I hadn't expected it to be on those terms. It would have felt unreal. I would have rather waited for the impossible instead of ruining perfectly good memories of our friendship.

I sat down and played with the carpet. After an hour, the spectacle was over. I was the first to exit the room, I wasn't planning on staying around for the 'debate on what we'd learnt/heard'. A 'Where are you going?' look of wonder caught me from across the room.

"Seriously, Ruvie." I thought a bit angrily, hoping he was reading my mind "Don't push my buttons."  
Whatever he understood, I was left alone.

I hit the canteen and asked the staff member on her shift to get me toasts with strawberry jam. She gave me three.

I held my plate, stared at it disgusted and returned my gaze to the kitchen assistant.  
"More, please."

She put two more in my plate.  
"More, please."

She glanced at me and added three more.  
"More, please."  
"Why don't you eat those first and then you come back for more?" I was starting to get on her nerves.  
I took a second look at my plate and didn't feel my judgement was to be questioned. I knew exactly how much I wanted to eat. I didn't want to have my eating interrupted to then get up and end up asking for more anyway.

"More, please." I insisted.

It wasn't too clear to me then, but the only way I'd ever found to cope with stuff troubling me, was to become an extreme asshole mayhem-seeking pain in the ass. I kept telling myself I didn't care about the consequences as long as it served for my own amusement. It was, after all, the distraction that I was seeking. Later Roger would rightfully put it me in my place, I'd use that to concentrate my anger on him and then I'd come back to my senses and realize how much of a fucking idiot I was being. Yeah, maybe I was a princess after all. I only ever admitted to being a genius, never mature. But hey, at least now I was fucking around for a few toasts that I would have, for the Sake of my pride, choked on if that meant finishing them as I'd thought and said I would, instead of blowing up stuff or forging Ruvie's signature to order ridiculously useless stuff. Talk about creativity. Once I ordered 250 Banana Guards. 'What is a Banana Guard?' you may be asking yourself. Well, as its name well indicates, it's a case solely made to pack and carry bananas. The real creative geniuses were outside the Wammy's House, _obviously_. After Ruvie understood what was going on, he started putting his stuff away, each time finding a better hiding place or longer password for his safe. Upon realizing it was a lost cause, he just left his stuff in highly obvious places for me to find. That way it became boring and I stopped. Very smart move from Roger I must say. The man was more capable than he showed. Saved the orphanage millions.

The kitchen assistant gave me two more and refused to give me any more toasts.  
"More, please."

I didn't seem to fucking get it.

"What are you doing?"  
Great, now B had to get involved in this.

"How did you find me?" I didn't turn to him. I still had some business over where I was.  
"I followed the brimstone trail."

I frowned. The kitchen assistant seemed a bit relieved.  
"What do you want?" I demanded, turning to face him.

He only stood there, observant. His stupid calamity was starting to annoy me, so I left the canteen with my plate in my hands. I turned to see B following slowly behind. I hurried my walking rhythm. He did too, but always keeping the same distance. Seeing it that running would mean dropping toasts all over the garden, I stopped. I accepted that there was no running.

I turned and started eating some of my toasts as I waited for him to reach my spot, shaking my head.

"Why are you following me?" I exhaled, surrendering to whatever was happening.  
"I'm exploiting the moment."

I blinked slowly, heavily, not in the mood to question him with words. I was in that phase of being upset were the initial madness stage was over and afterwards you're left just a bit of a void, not really knowing what to feel, so you'll take whatever comes next.

"You know how many different ways of really annoying you I've tried?"  
I raised an eyebrow. Better make it count, cowboy.

"At least twenty."  
I shrugged. So?

"You know how many have actually succeeded?"  
I shook my head and put another toast in my mouth.

"That is because none of them did."  
I tilted my head, chewing. That couldn't be true. At first I would always find him rather irritating.

"Sure, I might have gotten you a bit exasperated, but never staff-harassing-exasperated." He pointed in the canteen's direction with his thumb "That was impressive."

I looked down, embarrassed. It's the feeling of being an asshole and being aware of it.  
He laughed hysterically, I watched him do so, more worried than amused.

"If it wasn't for episodes like this, upon being asked I'd answer that you're made of ice. Always so patiently staring behind those murderous thoughts of yours that never make it to become words. Sometimes you'll even be completely oblivious to the fact that you're being either insulted or purposely annoyed. Which ironically, in itself is the perfect counter-attack, since what you're basically saying is that just considering the possibility of getting mad isn't worth your time in the least." He sighed, thoughtfully "So I thought," He leaned closer, as if I was some rare piece of evidence to be analyzed "when is it then that the contradictory behavior, such as what I've just witnessed, takes place? When else have I seen you act like this?" His tone had a hint of irritation "Oh, now I remember." He snapped back, overly-eager "It all revolves around L for you, doesn't it?"

I frowned, pushing him away.

"The fuck, B?"

He smiled.  
"There it is."

I laughed, nervously.  
"So what is this?" I took a step forward, menacing "What's your damn point? Can't I be upset that I'm not allowed to see my friend again?"

He stood there, smilingly.

"For crying out loud, B..." I started off mad "For crying out loud..." I became slowly tranquil again, escaping away to my thoughts. I tried to search into what he was saying. Into what he meant. Into everything. I bit my thumb, almost hurting it in the process.

"Why is he so worthy of your worship?" He was asking genuinely "Why is everybody so obsessed with him? I beg of you to tell me what is so special."

I looked up to face him. He was grabbing me by the arms. I was starting to wonder whether I should be scared.

"Because, for almost a year now, all I've been hearing is how great L does this and how great L does that. Why did they choose him? Why not me? I'm not as much as capable. I am twice as capable. I know it, I see it. I don't care if anybody else can't see it, but why won't you?" He chuckled, bitterly "You should be able to. You should be able to acknowledge it. You're my challenger, my adversary. You should know it better than anyone else."

I stared at him.  
"You accuse me of tying my actions around L." I cleared my throat, coming back down to reality "He is important to me, that is all you need to know." Regaining my senses, I became more severe, more solemn "But my life is not about him. Not about Watari. Not about Ruvie. Not about the Bordas. It's about myself. L's life is about himself's. That is why he left this place so long ago. His life doesn't revolve around mine or anyone else's. Not even yours." Inside, it sort of felt more like a realization than a certainty, but I wouldn't be telling him that with all the thinking I had still to process "If there's anybody between the both of us that's giving him (or even me) more importance than he should, then that's you. You're the one being consumed by his shadow. And knowing how brutally wonderful you are, I find it not only absolutely ridiculous, but saddening. L is L, A is A, B is B." I stuck my index in his chest.

I couldn't even begin to understand what had happened. There was no transition, no explanation, no logic and no connection at all with what I would have expected. I would have expected him to become angry, to deny what I was saying, to shut up, to shut me up, to agree with me. I wasn't expecting at all that he should kiss me, but there they were, his lips pressed roughly over mine, gloating over the power he now obviously had. Winning something L couldn't win, quite undisputedly.

Satisfied, the pressure ceased. His face broke away from mine. I opened my eyes and saw him smirking.

Normal A would have slapped him. Shocked A was pretty much just shocked A.

He shrugged.  
"I think we can call it even." He said. Took me a while to realize the bastard meant I'd paid off my piano hearing fee.


	18. Part II - Chapter VII: Pay Back

**Pay back**

That bloody pungent quality was at it again.  
The sound of his Fantaisie Impromptu was sneaking off into every corner of the Wammy's House. I'd walked as far from the (now) Music Room as I could as to not let it invade me, but it proved to be a measure as useless as I'd expected it would be, for it was too late. My brain had already incorporated it, diffusing my memory of it into my hearing as essentially as it would diffuse oxygen into my blood. My memory of it was perfect, I did not have to be there to hear it with absolute clarity. Needless to say, it was not the only memory I could replay without a missing detail. It was some conflictingly beautiful kind of torture.

Trying to asphyxiate my own thoughts and mental images, I kept throwing kicks at the punching bag. Months of hard training had managed to successfully strengthen my feet, thus providing me with more resistance, but they were red by the time I decided to take a water break. Touching them was probably a mistake. It burnt a little. I didn't think I wanted to go on.

Unlike other discussions we'd had, that fall out had had a different character. It was not sarcastic, it was not indirect, it was not a joke, not a game. We'd probably been actually, bluntly honest with each other for the first time.

I shivered. Honesty.  
Real feelings. I shivered again.

I laid down on the floor, staring at the gym's ceiling.  
"When I stand up again..." I realized out loud "Oh. Who am I kidding? I'm never gonna stand up again." I accepted my destiny "That was the end of walking for me."

I wondered what time it was. I didn't want to miss dinner.

By then B would have started playing another piece. Wondering which, my brain chose-guessed another and it started playing in the corners of my mind. I closed my eyes and saw the long, cold fingers that were responsible for it. Pale, because of how much he stayed indoors. A bit skinny, with its bones prominent, due to the abnormal diet he'd follow. A bit stained with ink, because he was a complete mess when writing, Jesus. I shook my head, reproving. I opened my eyes. Still in the gym.  
My heart beats had reached a normal pace, so I sat down, looking around.

"Okay." I cheered up for myself. "You got this."  
I tried to stand up and, to my surprise, I was still able to do it.

I walked around with blurred vision. I made a note to myself that I had to re-hydrate myself when I found an opportunity. But first, I needed a damn good shower.

I realized I'd forgotten all about dinner by the time I was already covered by my bed sheets. I was not going down.

In the days that followed, my path did not cross B's even once. It was quite probably because both him and I did not want to see each other, and had a basic idea and understanding of what places we'd rather frequent. It was like some strange kind of a divorce, where sections of the Wammy's House were distributed equally, only no lawyers were involved.

If you think it took time for anybody to notice, you're wrong. As if silent awkwardness wasn't enough, on one occasion I found some parody pamphlets lying around, probably a product of Linda, an overall nice girl that had a real talent at drawing. They simulated the kind of pamphlets that would be handed out as pre-elective propaganda, only it was either my face or B's that would appear in them. I mean- that was genius. It was the first time I openly laughed about the matter. Then I thought about how much that kind of sternness was a bit atypical of me. I was still a bit of a coward, though. In feeling terms, that is. I would have fought until my very death for my ideas, thoughts or morale, but 'feelings'? Yuck. What good ever comes out of that?

"I am not a Daphne." I reassured myself a bit angrily. There's something about throwing a cushion against the wall that says 'mad' but also 'definitely not mad enough (to buy 250 Banana Guards. Apply accordingly)'. "I am not stupid or defenseless." I sat down in my bedroom floor. "On the other hand, I am a bit of a redhead, though..." I took a good look at my hair. Not red. Definitely not Daphne-orange. More like auburn. Dark auburn. Is that a colour?

I sighed.

He kissed me, I remembered frowning. But what did that kiss mean?

He'd been giving me this hurt-pride related rant, accusing me of over-idealizing L. What was it to him? He was the one delusional about it. He himself had shrugged when I'd asked him about living under his shadow God-knew-how-long ago, and now he was acting in total contradiction to what he'd shown me in the past.

I chuckled upset.

That kiss was all about his pride. It was all about showing L, about showing me. And somehow the idea of being a trophy caught in a quarrel (of which, by the way, possibly only one of the participants was aware was taking place), didn't appeal to me. It was devaluing my own strength and participation in the matter. But angry the most, I was at myself for allowing it.

On the other hand, I thought it would have been too narcissistic to ignore the validity of his accusations, regardless of their reasons.

It was true. A bit too stretched and taken out of context, but in principle, there was some truth to it. L's departure had upset me a bit too much. Now why?

Was I upset at Watari or Roger for 'taking him' away from me? No. As far as I was concerned, L had chosen for himself. Was I then, upset at L for 'abandoning' me? No. I wouldn't ask him to stay behind for me. The thought was awful. Why ask him to sacrifice something I would have too, wanted for myself?

I grabbed another pillow and drowned my face in it. I came back for a breath. I didn't like what my line of thought was getting at, because I was running out of possible explanations.

Did I... have feelings for L?

Shivers. I put my bed-cover around me. I did not want to go there.

I laughed, thinking I was letting B get into my head.  
"Stupid idiot." I said redundantly at the thought of him.

And then this idea got to me. I did not know why I thought it would solve anything, but I would give it a try.

I opened the door of my room authoritatively and headed straight for the Music Room, my steps musicalized by yet more Chopin. I entered it rashly, not caring if it distracted him or if he ignored me. He opted to continue to play undisruptedly. That would be, of course, until I decided to achieve the last phase of the operation 'it's pay back time, baby'.

Given that he wouldn't look at me, I had to dramatically take his face in my hands to be able to kiss him myself.

His lips blended in with mine, more accepting than hateful. The shock factor I'd expected was absent.  
"You listen to me very well." I looked into his eyes fiercely, pulling out "Don't you pull this kind of crap on me again. I've let you underestimate me for too long. You don't know the half of me... Princess."

We sat staring at each other, warily.

Laughter.

We sighed. I waited for his reply. He started nodding, thoughtfully.

"Fair enough, A. I think I got my lesson." He smiled "We've got to stop doing this..." He signaled our mouths.  
"I agree."

We shared a smile.

"Best enemies?" He extended his hand.

I tilted my head, looking at it. I shook my head decidedly.  
"I wouldn't mind trying to be your friend, if that's okay with you." I suggested.  
"Friends?" We shivered. That meant like, feelings, honesty. Hadn't we had enough?  
"We can always go back to planning each other's deaths and stuff." I commented.

He considered it.  
"That is true."  
"It is." I nodded.

After a while, he gave me his final reply.  
"Alright, A. I accept your challenge." I shook his hand.

Grinning, I turned to the piano.  
"Now, where were you..?" I searched my brain "Ah, yes... I think it went on a bit like this..."


	19. Part II - Chapter VIII: Judge, Jury, Ex-

**Judge, Jury, Executioner**

Why do you think people commit crimes?

You know? There's a whole career after that question.

Since the dawn of me it's quite safe to assume that I've had to ask myself that question. Hours straight looking at pictures, reading files, reading the papers, watching the news. The question is everywhere... But where is the answer?

Are all criminals insane? In that case, are they necessarily born insane or do they become insane? If so, how? What makes them go from A to B? Is insanity a requisite for evil? Is insanity an excuse we seek as to sleep at night or is it a reasonable fundament? Insanity aside, is it certain what people become or could become criminals or could anybody, including ourselves, become one? Can murder be rationalized?

I think that is the most fundamental test the Wammy's House gives you, only quite possibly, neither of both parties concerned are truly aware of it.

Believe me when I say that every Wammy kid has thought of becoming a criminal. It's not too surprising if you think about it. What stops us? With minds like ours, what stops us? Why, yes, we could say someone like L, but ultimately, it is only ourselves. Intelligence can have disastrous side effects. One tiny bit that you let yourself get too much over to your head and you can become a real fairly-tale-monster. Some levels of abstraction can become very dangerous. You have to always make sure you keep some part of your feet on the ground, or else... Evil might start to sound actually reasonable. And why would we ever ignore reason?

To ignore the question is insensible itself. The question can not be ignored. You can not be afraid of yourself, it is necessary that you face yourself, or else, chances are that in the future somebody else will have to.

Could I murder somebody just because I can? I asked myself one morning, clearly.  
Kill him, (or her), hide him, attempt the perfect crime, just to see if I could get away with it? Because, I could, I knew.

The concept of 'moral values', of rules, wasn't something as simple to me as reading the Bible and accepting its commands as mine, simply because it was expected of me. Neither was it about reading the Constitution and accepting the Law. It was not about accepting or discarding universally sold values as moral or immoral. It was about what I, and only I, could judge as wrong or right, upon actual pondering. So you see, the question 'Could I murder somebody?' didn't just stop at the problem of how 'killing is wrong, people have told me', but it was essential that I studied the matter thoroughly. Of course, for safety reasons, without actual experimentation.

I ran up the stairs, worried.

I opened B's bedroom door, and after cautiously closing it behind me, I jumped onto his bed.

"Do you think I could kill a person?"

His reply wouldn't determine mine, but a second hand could come in... _handy_. (Get it..? Han... Yeah, maybe comedy isn't my thing either.)

"And how would you kill this individual?" He said, obviously tired. Too soon to think. Too soon to kick me the hell out. Too soon to be alive. He sighed, knowing he'd just have to bare with me until whatever idea had struck me was gone.

"Make space." I commanded.

He didn't move so I pushed him aside as to lay beside him.  
Staring at the ceiling, I thought about my answer.

"Well, I'd shoot him I guess." I always liked my hand movements. I regretted that he wasn't paying attention to them.

"Uh-uh." He corrected me.  
"Uh-uh, what?"  
"You should try to stab this person."

I shivered.  
"Stab..?"

He sighed, hating mornings more than anybody else on Earth was at that moment.

"I don't think you could kill a person."  
"Psh. You're just scared because I came here to kill you."

He produced a sound that I thought was a chuckle, but his voice was so tired it was hard to tell.

"You just shivered at the idea of stabbing a person."  
"But not at the idea of shooting one."

He shook his head.

"I think guns are weapons only cowards would choose."  
"Oh yes?" I refuted "What about the police, the army? What about... _America_?"  
"Neither of the ones you've mentioned are murderers, or for that matter, an organization of murderers. It is not their primary function to go out and kill people, and for the love of me, I hope they didn't choose their careers just so they could do that... How twisted would that be?"  
"There's always a crazy one."  
"True, but they're not the rule."  
"Anyway, you were saying?"

He took a pause to retrace what he'd been saying. At least that's what I thought he was doing, because next thing I know was that I was waking him up again so that he'd continue.

He sighed, now awake.

"I'll never forget this."  
"Go on, the sooner the better."  
"Anyway. I think guns are a way of detaching yourself. Of making the fact that you're killing someone more... unreal. Distant. You see, to shoot someone dead, you have this (we'll call it) machine, that does the killing part for you. While it does not replace you as its user, it's still not the whole of you who commits the action of killing someone. Could you imagine police officers stabbing criminals to death on daily basis?"

My face looked a bit sick.

"No. I thought so." He tried to keep his eyes open, but it was a bit of a challenge. He went on with his eyes closed and a demotivated speech "To see if you could really murder someone, you'd have to see if you could actually kill the person in a way that it would unquestionable that it is you performing the action. Be it stabbing, or choking, or torture, whatever you please." My chest felt cold at the thought of those actions "If you can live with the fact that you're putting someone through that pain, through that fear; if you can live with the fact that you'll have felt, literally, their lives slip away from your hands, feel them die, feel yourself the cause of their deaths, of their unjustified ends, then," He cleared his throat "I think, you could murder someone."

I got myself under the bedcover.

"_Brr_."  
"Brr indeed. Now get out before I murder you."  
"No, wait." It wasn't over yet "I think you're taking it a bit too far. Yes, it is a nice argumentation in principle, but you're forgetting that many other nutters have shot down people for their own pleasure."  
"Hm. So maybe I'm wrong. Get out. I need to sleep."

He'd have to reply. I felt him fight that necessity of his to have the last word at every discussion ever.

"You're taking advantage of me." He meant just that, but went on "I think that, had they could, those nutters would have been able to kill those people with their hands just as well. To be fair, yes, you could kill a person for your own amusement with a gun. But what stops you of doing it with a knife then, if you're so nonchalant about killing people?"  
"Maybe it's just not my modus operandi."  
"Why would you kill anybody anyway?"  
"What if I just wanted to see if I could?"  
"A, should I be scared?"

I laughed.

"For the time being don't ask me where I see myself in five years."  
"Five years, huh?" A hint of distraction.

I bit his shoulder playfully.

"Thanks, B. This was quite enlightening. I could argue you all afternoon, but I think I'll take it from here myself."

He sounded irritated.

"No you won't. You'll try to do it, and then you'll come back and try to buy my way into answering you with a coffee or something, because it is inevitable that you fail."

If he thought trying to offend me was taking him somewhere, he was wrong.

I turned on the door and asked him.

"Eight sugars?"  
An angry silence.

"Yes, please." Surrender.

So he'd made a good point, but it didn't make that point the rule of humanity. Okay, so I didn't picture myself stabbing a person, so what? What if I rationalized killing people? Like a moral purpose or simple indifference. I thought of Robespierre. I thought of the thousands that were sent to the guillotine, not for killing another person (without bringing the whole 'death penalty' into matter), but because they feared their ideas were a threat to the Revolution. Because they thought differently. Because they complained about the bread's price.

"Who _the fuck_ did those bastards think they were?" I complained out loud.

"Uh... Sorry, what?" The kitchen assistant looked at me worried.

I looked up, snapping back.

"No, nothing. Sorry. Rehearsing for a play."  
"Oh..." She continued to prepare the tray with my breakfast, occasionally looking back at me, a bit fearful. Smooth lying, A.

I headed my way back upstairs, carrying the tray. It was kinda heavy, but 'kinda heavy' was good. It used to be 'impossibly heavy'. Sport wasn't the hateful abhorrence I'd thought it'd be... Well, no. Let's say it was more of a business transaction. I had to pay with my suffering, but in exchange I'd get back some strength. Who knows what for? I spent my days locked up in. Maybe I should start a gang... I thought.

I remembered what it was that had been occupying my mind. Ah yes. Who the fuck did those bastards think they were?

The idea of a society where killing, no, exterminating other people, regardless of how painless a method was used, angered me beyond reason. So now I'd have to figure out _why_.

Rationalizing murder was only a thing cowards would do. A bit like B had said, only expanded. I thought I'd probably feel more respect for someone who felt pleasure out of killing, something I found unreasonable and insane, instead of someone who hid behind reason to kill others. Someone who stained reason, who spat at logic. Someone who rationalized murder was a living insult to my existence and my every value.

"So that was why I wouldn't kill people!" I exhaled, relieved.  
I turned to see some kids staring at me. I walked on.

If I rationalize murder, I must have gone crazy, I thought. Regardless of how reasonable I sound, that level of narcissism would have to be too high. It would automatically put me at a stand where I, as the executioner, would see myself as obviously better than everyone else, and therefore whatever claim they'd have on their own ideas, on their own rights, on anything, would be of absolutely no value to me, so I could dispose of them, because I'd know better and everybody else would be a meaningless idiot with no saying in the matter.

I shivered.

I noticed my environment. I was sitting at the stairs, only one more floor to go.

I looked at the tray beside me. 'Kinda heavy' was still pretty heavy. Maybe it'd weight less if B and I chose to have less food for breakfast, but that was clearly not happening.

I touched the cups to check if the coffee was still hot.  
"Ay!"

Yup. All good.

I'd often make fun or brag about being a genius or being a hare in a tortoise world, but, in reality, jokes were always to me a way of expressing doubts and the uncertain. I mean, yes. I was perfectly aware that there were people who were not as fast as me in terms of... I would have said intelligence, but the word is overused. Let's approach it from another perspective.

I didn't think I was better than the rest of the world, period. That was basically the end of the killing career for me. The reason I didn't was quite extensive.

Take Linda, for example. The portrait she'd made of me when B and I were cross at each other, was so incredibly impressive. If I'd tried to draw an elephant, it would have been put on a stand, so that every time someone felt miserable, they'd go to it and remember how someone, somewhere was the worst artist in the whole of the universe, in the whole of time. I know it's a pretty stupid example, but bare with me for a second. I know the world isn't classified as those who can draw and those who can't. But I don't believe people, as a whole, can truly be classified. I am nobody to murder anyone and nobody is anybody to murder me.

I kinda nodded, tilting my head.

My thoughts were a bit like an uncut diamond. Yes, I was getting at it, but it could all look prettier.  
I shrugged. I'd found the reason I needed. I'd take care of shaping my thoughts better on some other occasion.

I felt humanity breathe relieved. Killing people is wrong, I accepted the principle.

"So? Do I get to keep my life?" B said, sitting on his bed.

I smiled. Yup.

"Oh, no, what now?" He exclaimed at the tilt of my head.

I shrugged.

Murdering people wasn't the only crime out there.


	20. Part II - Chapter IX: It's really not

**It's really not about the food theft**

My dad used to hit me when I misbehaved too much. Now, let me point out the following: he was not some abusive drunk who beat the shit out of me for misspelling a word. That is, he was not the stereotypical monster-dad and my childhood was not haunted with battle scars and tears. But he did smack me around if I took my shit too far. I'm not saying it was the ultimate child upbringing method, but all parents make mistakes. It is unavoidable.

My dad was also very patient with me for other things too. I didn't speak until I was five and don't get me started on the read-writing parts. Yet he never gave up on me, and never accepted it when other teachers or so called pros had taken me for granted. As 'L's successor', I guess the joke really was on them, after all.

My mum on the other side never laid a finger on me, but when I turned into my prick-self, it was not getting slapped that I feared. You see, a slap lasts a second. It hurts, it's real, and then it's over. Well, maybe later on there's a few years of therapy involved, but over all, it was just a slap. Instead, the gazes that my mother would throw at me would be so filled with disappointment, the moral speech would be so filled with righteousness, that I would have taken any other punishment over either of those any time of the day. Man, it would make me wish both would just slap me and get it done with. I'd gotten it.

When a situation developed into either or both ends, that they should treat me like that, my parents, would anger me to no reason. I would get so mad at them I'd lock myself in my own room, trying to escape the feeling of impotence my ridiculously low hierarchic position in the family gave me. I was never a fan of authority.

When I was living with the Bordas, I saw the equivalents of those punishments being applied to my short term foster brothers. They did not get hit or given a silent-shame treatment, but they would instead get yelled at or sent to their rooms. Funny enough, possibly one of the reasons I never fully felt as a part of that family, was because they would never yell at me when it was me the one who'd wronged. I'd get a bit more of a special treatment, them trying to talk smoothly, and, as if fearing I'd break, they would discuss my behavior reasonably until both parties reached an agreement. I found that so insufferable, that in the end I opted to behave myself at all times, as to ignore the fact that I was an odd one out.

Without knowing so, I tested that same reaction when I came to live at the Wammy's House. Other kids, regardless of the nickname they'd chosen for me, did not give shit about my past, not to mention my real name. As completely strange as this might sound, that actually gave me a bit more of a home feeling. It's not like I was a fan of being hated on or that I had some kind of a twisted anger-fetiche, but the fact that they treated me honestly, was a one hell of an improvement.

I remember how I would have never wanted to let Watari down. The idea was scary to me, even having in mind how flexible he was to the quirkiness in my behavior. When it came down to the point where Ruvie couldn't stand me anymore, he'd leave a message for Watari asking that he call the Wammy's House and talked to me. Hell, the fucker knew me too well.

"Pick up the phone in Watari's office." There'd always be some hidden tone of revenge in his voice.

Aw, hell nawh.

I knew what that sentence meant.

"It's a trap." I knew.

Watari wouldn't shout, wouldn't sound angry or disappointed. He'd just call 'to talk' and eventually hint that some little bird had told him I'd been acting a bit unlike a Wammy lady should. Man, that bird was the real asshole. He'd end up asking whether I wanted to talk about what it was that had been troubling me.

I'd shrug, a bit embarrassed of myself.

"I don't know. At this point, it's quite pointless to point out that I'm clearly psychologically disturbed... If you see my point."

He'd chuckle. Of course he would.

However, one night, that whole routine was marked by the absence of something...

"If this is about Roger's carpet, I had nothing to do with it."  
"What about Roger's carpet?"  
"Nothing." Strange. He should have noticed by then.

He sighed, fishing for words.

"A, what happened in the kitchen last day was very unlike you." He sounded more severe.

Unlike me? I stole food all the time.

"Are you alright? Have you been pushing yourself too hard? Roger has been telling me you've been spending a lot of time with the last case he gave you..."

What on God's name...  
He paused to let me reply.

"Fine, fine, I'll never do it again."

The hell I wouldn't. Back in my 'Roger's identity theft game' days I remember buying a thousand packages of small, round bandages. We still had no idea what to do with them. I mean, literally, we would never run out of them. I would know. I personally asked B to cover my face with them. And yet here was Roger, complaining to Watari about a small food theft of which B had possibly as much participation as I did. A brain's gotta eat. A Wammy's House's gotta brain. What an inconsistent argument.

"A..." He sighed "Well, I have to say I hope you don't, but it's not just about the damage..."

Great. Now they were labeling it 'the damage'. I was thinking of becoming a serial killer a few weeks before that, just so they knew.

"It's about you that I'm worried about."

Worried about what? That I get fat?

"You know you can talk to me. Please, talk to me. What happened?"  
"Okay..." I sighed, enough "Watari, you know how disrespectful I can be. You also know how I hold that trait back when I talk to you, because I have the deepest respect for you (and, yes, also because I'm an evil angel). So I hope that when I say what I'm about to say next, you know that I mean it as respectfully as I can be:" Deep breath "I think you might be over-reacting."

That didn't come off too wrong, did it?

Silence.  
Maybe a bit.

I shrugged. English gentlemen.

"A, you purposely bashed a lot of plates..."

Oh, that...  
Wait. What?

"...There's also a window broken, you could have gotten very seriously injured."

I did n... Did I? No! I didn't.

"W..Watari..." I tried to interrupt.  
"I don't think I'm over-reacting." He explained "A, that kind of behavior..." He sighed.

That kind of behavior was absolutely not acceptable. It was deranged. I knew it. He didn't need to say it. And for me to understand that...

The problem was, that as I was saying previously, that whole episode was marked by the absence of something: my participation in it, be it via suggestion, planning or executing it. That one time I had really nothing to do with it.

"Watari." I used a tranquil tone, owning the lead of the conversation "I'm really sorry to have scared you like this." I knew history would judge me harshly for what started that night "You know how you say you want me to 'go out of my way' and 'socialize'? Well, as it turns out, last day I was in the garden with these kids that are always hanging around, playing with a Frisbee. I mean, it's not my fault that I'm not good at it, it's theirs for not having lent it to me beforehand. So that day, when it seemed they actually were willing to give me a chance, well... Sh- Feces happened. By now you'll probably know I won't pursue my popularity any longer..." I breathed out, bored. I could hear him relax as my narration went on "Of course they sent me to get it back, and I was a bit like 'whatever', but went to the kitchen anyway. That was when the whole plate thing happened. Look, it would have been only one plate if it hadn't been for Hilda: I was trying to get this one I'd broken under a pile of non-broken-plates so that nobody would notice (yes, regardless of the window issue). But I heard Hildi storming through the corridor and I got scared. So, yeah. That's what happened. I don't know whether it really was Hildi, but I wasn't going to stay and find out." C'est fini.

He sighed and then chuckled, obviously less tense.

"A!" He sounded glad. But that didn't mean it was all over "Why didn't you tell me before?"  
"I was thinking about blaming someone else."

That couldn't have sounded more like me than it had.  
He sighed, believing me.

"I know." I said before he got a chance. "This means..."  
"Chores." We said simultaneously.  
"Please don't let Roger in charge." I begged. My brain started praying to all the deities it knew of.  
"How else are you going to learn?"  
"I'll write a confession."

He chuckled. Of course he would.

After that was settled, we talked for a while about my academic progress as to make small talk and the whole episode more polite and then we finally hung up the phone.  
I breathed in hardly and let myself fall over the table.

Noticing how awfully quiet Watari's office was, I started to wonder whether I was truly alone in the dark.

"You are, under normal circumstances, the worst liar in the universe." It was B's voice.

I tried to appear calm but I think I died and returned before I was able to respond.

"How odd did you have to find this to become, suddenly, a natural?"

As he approached me, the moonlight started to light his figure. He took a seat from the other side of the desk. His fingers started to play around with Watari's desk objects.

"Why did you take the blame?" He asked quietly, but intrigued.  
"Why did you blast the kitchen?" I asked motherly, where the word motherly implies taking a deep breath not to strangle your own child.

He shrugged. I shrugged back, exaggeratedly, as to mock him, upset.

"We need to talk about this." I informed him as he stood up.  
"Really not." He said.

I stood up.

"What happened to you? Why did you do that? It is so unlike you..!" I was starting to sound like a recording of Watari.

He turned to me. He was not showing either of his two basic emotions: amused or mad. He looked at me... Sadly. He looked sad and disturbed.

"B..."

It was no use. He left the office before I could talk him into talking to me.  
I sat back on Watari's chair and turned it to face the windows.  
I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to make sense of what'd happened.

"This can't be good." Was all I knew.


	21. Part II - Chapter X: Lies' Legs

**Lies' Legs**

I was reading '_The importance of being Earnest_' which is what must have immediately triggered his question.

"Ever pondered on the importance of names?"

The sun was about to set, but it still had a few more minutes under our sight. I covered my nose and mouth with my scarf.

"More often than you think."  
"Hm."

After a few pages and giggles, I remembered he'd mentioned something. I turned to him. I was hoping his question would lead to one of our old debates, but he dropped the topic altogether. He no longer wished to pursue that question. Or any question for that matter.

He'd often ask questions without looking for answers. He'd also give answers without explaining what questions they were replying. He'd laugh. A lot. He'd also become more aggressive.

Back in Argentina I used to have this great aunt that had started to lose her memory. At first I thought she was being funny, but when somebody asks you nine times in ten minutes where your mother is... Iiiiit gets suspicious. As it progressed, though, it wasn't only her memory that went and came. Her personality as a whole was compromised by it, as well as her personal relationships with my family or her friends. It was kinda hard to watch.

While B wasn't actually losing his memory, it was something about his behavior that reminded me just about her, even when I still could not completely understand what was going on. It felt like watching somebody die.

"B, are you dying?" I asked him one morning, appealing to his conduct's strangeness.

He laughed out loud, as if aware of some ironic behavior or mistake invisible to my comprehension.

"No, A, I am not dying..." He replied understanding why I'd ask. But then, upon actual pondering he found it necessary to correct himself: "Or maybe I am. It's quite funny, isn't it?"  
"What is?"

Pardon my lack of amusement.

He just sighed smilingly in a manner that said 'But of course. You wouldn't understand.'

A bit unconsciously, I snapped back from my thoughts and purposely dropped my book off the rooftop. We watched it fall slowly before its flight met its death.

"Sitting here is dangerous." He remarked uneasy, his coffee sipping manners untouched by his slight nervousness.

I looked at him and, internally shaking my head, went back to looking at the book I'd thrown. I'd sent a book flying and all he cared to notice was how sitting on the roof was dangerous. I went back to staring at him. He avoided my eyes.

"Joseph Library is gonna give me a hard time for that."

I named people after their jobs when I didn't know their last-names. There was also Mary Gardener, Jane Kitchen, Cecily Kitchen, Philip Creepymidnightdogwalker, etc.

"I think letting a book accidentally slip from your hands is not the biggest sin you have to worry for right now."

I'd been taking the blame for B's shenanigans for the past years.

"I don't know how much longer I'll be able to keep up with that." I said indistinctly.  
"You've been saying that for a while now." He mentioned. He didn't seem too preoccupied.

I breathed in, thoughtfully.

"No, that's not what I mean." I replied. I couldn't hear my own voice too clearly, despite the fact that I knew it was perfectly audible. The skies darkening and the temperature lowering seemed to be concentrating at least 78% of my focus. I played with my palms to keep them warm "I've said lie after lie. I'm not a fan of cliches, but lies have short legs. It is only a question of time for them to notice that something just does not fit the picture. I mean, they're training detectives. I'd be a bit disappointed if they didn't."

He nodded slightly.

"You're a good liar."  
"Is that good or bad?"  
He shrugged. It was what it was.

"Are you worried?"

I sighed.

"For a genius you sure make a lot of stupid questions." I replied a bit upset.

He giggled. I was not amused.

"I think you need help." I chuckled without a hint of finding things funny "I think that something very bad is going to happen to you, and I think it will be entirely my fault for not reporting this to anybody. I should have done it. I should do it. I should get down and do it now. At times you really manage to convince me that you've literally lost all contact with reality... And then you come back again." I shook my head.

That was it. The psychotic part. That's what reminded me of 'auntie María'.

"Hm. Yes. Seeing it like this, maybe it will be your fault."

My brain stopped working.  
Reboot? Y/N.  
Y.  
There was an emergency shutdown. Please wait while A's brain is loading.  
Done 100%

I turned to him. We gazed at each other.  
Shaking my head again, I stood up to climb down.

"Are you gonna tell the truth?" He inquired, obviously not interested about the results. He knew I wouldn't anyway.  
"Fuck you." Talking to B was like talking to a mentally disturbed rock.

Sadly for me, if I meant to keep his behavior a secret, that meant I was responsible for him. As much as I would've wanted to, I couldn't really indulge my desire to ignore him and stay out of his way. I had to monitor his every activity.

"Good morning." He'd lower the newspaper when I came down to have breakfast.

I'd just eat quietly.

He'd then proceed to read the newspaper for me and inquire my opinion about the articles. Offended, I wouldn't reply even when I actually found them interesting. On the other hand, that sort of childish mockery gave me some form tranquility. It meant I was dealing with B's Jekyll.

"Ah... Another man got killed last night." He began to narrate an article with sarcastic pleasure. Or was it sarcastic? I didn't know. I didn't care. "Would you look at that... Who do you think killed him?"

Colonel Mustard in the music room with the candlestick.

"What is it? Is there some Clue-related joke that you want to make?"

He was just twisting the knife, man.

"No?" He sighed "Too bad. I think it would have been most witty." He started to search the newspaper for something that would catch my attention "Oh, hey, look at this..."

I betrayed my anger by returning a look of curiosity at him, which I immediately drew back to my cereal.

"They've released 'Snatch' last week! Wasn't this one the one you wanted to watch so badly..?"

I looked at the garden. Yes. Yes, B. That was the one.

And then, on that fourth day of that same routine, I broke down.

"I need to tell them B." I sighed, looking at him "I think this time my decision is final."

He looked into my eyes, taking things more seriously.  
He took my hand between his. The fingers were cold. I fought the urge to draw my hand back, feeling it would have been useless to try.

"I know." He said, his calamity dissolving "I know, just..." He looked over my head, distracted by his thoughts "Give me some time, yes? I promise you everything will be fine again. I will tell Watari everything." He sounded a bit desperate or strange, but not lying-strange.

I had my doubts. The way I had covered for him... I was gonna get a big share of face kicks from both Roger and Watari. But it wasn't me that I was concerned the most about. Guilt had had me wishing to get kicked in the face for a long time. But B on the other side... When they learnt that every near implausible 'accident' of mine was actually product of B's inexplicable psychotic breaks they'd... They'd get him help. That was the most important thing, I thought... But it left me thinking, you know? Would that help part our ways? That was, would he still be under the Wammy's House's care? What if they didn't think him fit anymore? What if it wasn't good for him?

I didn't want to lose another friend.

'_I think this time my decision is final_' My own words came back to mind.  
If i wanted to be of help at all, I had to cut the crap.

"H.. How much time?" I asked, doubtful.

He cracked a nervous grin.  
"Not so much."

I wondered who looked the most preoccupied from us.


	22. Part II - Final Chapter: Blindfolded

**Blindfolded Steps**

'I'll be back in a week' Read the note stuck to my door. I didn't have to turn the piece of paper it'd been written on to know there'd be a Cloister Black 'B' stamp on the other side.

I would have thought I would have freaked out. Or cried. Or cursed. Or _felt_ something.  
Instead, I stood silently staring at it. Because, what else could I do?

I breathed out.

"Just coffee today, please."

Cecily Kitchen looked astonished. I'd never had 'just coffee' in any of my years at the Wammy's House (or any previous to that for that matter). She served my coffee anyway.

"Are you alright?" She asked me, handing me my mug.  
"Oh? Ah, yes, doing fine, thank you. Yourself?" I noticed when I received my drink that she probably hadn't meant to engage in small talk.  
"Doing good."

I smiled and went to my seat.

"The way I see it," I spoke to myself, going all origami-master on a napkin "I can sit here and wait for madness to ensue. I can try to find B. Or, I can alarm Watari and Roger about everything that has been going on."

I blew on my coffee before taking a sip. I liked how the warmth hit my nose.

I exhaled staring at the ceiling as if my thoughts were all jammed up there because of some thought-road accident, and I had to handpick the ones that hadn't been damaged and would dutifully serve my purpose.

Option number one: Sitting there.  
The reflection of my smile in the coffee was all the answer I needed. That was obviously not an option.  
It all came down to a dwell between the other two options.

Option number two: Try to find B.  
And option number three: Rat him out.

"Eh.." I mumbled.

B said he would be back in a week. Had he said that as to buy himself time, with no actual intentions of returning? Or would he really be back?

Why had he left? What was so important that he had to leave the Wammy's House without a warning? I'd been seriously considering the idea that he'd become both a danger to himself as well as for others. Suddenly losing it and bashing plates or windows wasn't the worst he'd done, believe me. So, was it safe to have him hanging around Winchester without anybody knowing what he was doing and whether he'd be back? It didn't take a Wammy brain to figure that one out. And he might have been a bit '_stressed_', but he was still very, very smart. You don't want your opponent to be B-smart, trust me.

My heart skipped a bit. This was all my fault, I knew. It wasn't just a moral struggle or some uncertain guilt twisting around my brain, it was all, factually, my responsibility. I was an accomplice. I was the typical nutjob you'd find in almost every zombie movie, that would keep his zombified brother chained up in the basement, convincing himself 'Jerry had just a cold'. Things never go better from then on, I knew. Next thing Jerry's brother knows, is that he's feeding the demoniac creature living people, to eventually (and inevitably, because the plot requires that form of revenge) end up getting eaten by his own stupidity.

I shook my head. Jerry did not just have a cold.

'_I'll be back in a week_.'

The memory of the note betrayed my calamity.

In my relatively short seventeen years of life, I had learnt that I did not have to trust, I had to know. I did not have to rely on faith, I had to rely on evidence. And those words, those principles made perfect sense to me. Why wouldn't I budge? Why would I be so stubborn?

I think some part of me wanted to give feelings a chance. To give trust a chance. But that's the problem with trust. It's like crossing the street blindfolded, (like Mulan does). It is not rational.

"It is not rational." I repeated.

Well, duh. That is almost the definition of feelings.

"You're wasting time." I reminded myself "I could put all of this in a memo entitled 'shit you already know' if you still want to discuss it later."

I shrugged and paid no attention to the eventual "Wudufu" gazes that others gave me. Talking out loud is perfectly normal for the crazy. Maybe it was just B's absence starting to show. Or his influence. Anyway.

On the one side I didn't want to betray B. He meant more to me than I actually understood. Without him I'd be pretty much alone all day. All week. All year. I had no guarantees that I'd bee seeing L any time soon, regardless how much I would have liked the idea. I'd stopped waiting. And other Wammy kids seemed quite reluctant to accept me to their inner circle. But nevermind them, B was my best friend. We had like, a bond. I knew he would have waited seven days, had I requested them. Was that reason enough? What would be the real betrayal? To wait or to be rat?

"Fuck, B." I told him, this time more under my breath.

I would give him his seven days, after that I'd talk. And he'd better be home with the first sun ray that hit the Wammy's House. I didn't think my decssion was the one I would have rather carried out, but I had to try.

Giving him his week wouldn't mean sitting and doing nothing, however. I had also been given a week to investigate and peek around his stuff. I was bound to find something of use there. If anything.

"B's gone!" I entered Roger's office alarmed.

If I wanted to be a tiny bit believable, I had to be just as surprised by B's leave as anybody.  
He didn't understand it.

"I said B's gone." I handed him the note he'd left for me.  
"I'll be back in a week." He read it out loud, and then turned the paper to find a Cloister Black B stamped on the other side "A, are you serious?"

I nodded upset.

"I have looked for him everywhere: I couldn't find him."

He sat back down on his office chair, taken aback.

"Do you know where he could be?"

I shook my head. That wasn't a lie.

"Did he say anything? Did he do anything that would...?" He stopped mid-question at the second shake of my head.  
That definitely was.  
"Back in a week..." He repeated to himself "Well, he is almost eighteen now."

I frowned.

"Don't be so incompetent, Roger." My own hypocrisy was openly encouraging me to just jump out of the roof and shut up for good "He can't just vanish. We have to do something about it."  
"A, please calm down. Please sit."

I obeyed.

"We'll talk to Watari, okay? He'll know what to do."

I was in no position to judge anybody right then. But if his sole plan of action was to rely on talking to Watari I... I was in no position to judge anybody.

"Well, call him." I insisted.  
"I can't just call him."  
"Why not?" Come on, Ruvs. You can do better than this.  
"Because he's on a plane."

I breathed in slowly, staring at my feet.

"But don't worry, we can tell him all about it when he's here."  
When he's...

"What." I looked up.

He was smiling.  
I betrayed my worry and started smiling too, jumping off my seat.

"They're coming?"  
He nodded.

A sudden thought struck my brain: really not the best of times for them to come.  
...But they were coming.

* * *

_Hey guys, sup? I come to you as a humble beggar to ask for your opinions and thoughts in the form of a very tiny (or large if you so please) pretty review. It would be very much appreciated, as I'm totally thrilled about what you're thinking. I really hope I'm not stabbing you with boredom. But then again, don't feel obliged to write anything (read: do feel obliged) (just kidding) (or am I?) (no, seriously) (but it would be nice). kthnxbye 3 :)_


	23. Part III - Chapter I: Scumbags Die Hard

**Old Scumbags Die Hard**

I don't instantly open my eyes after waking up. I first lay quietly and allow my other senses to tell me what's going on, as if to decide whether opening my eyes is safe or not. It sounds silly, I know. But some, if not all quirks, have their origins, regardless of whether they can be traced or not. As for that one in particular, I was pretty conscious of why I'd do it.

It's always the smells that will invade me first.

That room didn't smell like me, it was not impregnated with my essence. That was to be slightly concerned about. It meant I hadn't spent the night at my own bedroom.

There was a mix of odors, among them were sweat, disinfectant and some form of a floral fragrance dazing around. But of no other person in particular, not at least of someone I could recognize. Someone took care of ventilating the room, as well as periodically changing the bed-sheets. But then why was there sweat? Whose was it?

I inhaled again. It was mine, definitely. That I was aware, I didn't have any form of sleep hyperhidrosis, so it probably meant I'd spent quite a lot of time there. Maybe a few days. I guessed 9. It's not like I'd figured some secret science to it, but supposing I'd found a new source of obsession, sometimes I could go days without showering. I just knew my smells. I had definitely not showered in over a week.  
Then there was the presence of other smells I classified as "outside smells". That is, they were present in the room too, but not predominant. It probably matched my assumption that someone took care of ventilating the room, so they were probably coming through a window.

It was the faint smell of cigarettes and other sorts of smokes that I'd smelled. I could notice them because they contrasted the ones from the mysterious room I found myself in. It was something impure about it. Ah, sí. It was the smell of a city.

Then it was the sounds.

Two kinds of beeping sounds were distracting me. One was barely audible but permanent, the other intermittent, consistent and annoying. I'd heard that beeping before. I knew exactly what it belonged to.

I held my breath and after a while I noticed how the pause between beeps had become longer. A monitor.

If I'd had any doubts before, then it was pretty clear by that point that I had to be in a hospital room. But why?

The second beeping sound, I would have recognized a mile away from it. Well, maybe not a mile, since it's not exactly loud, but it clearly was the sound only a telly would do when turned on. Somebody had been watching it and had possibly forgotten to turn it off. Or maybe he or she would come back to it. I couldn't hear voices or music, so either it was on a channel where nothing was on display or it was on mute, possibly not to disturb my rest. If the latter, then it could be a foreign movie, and he or she was reading the subtitles.

In the background, car motors, sirens and chaotic noises were mixing together with incomprehensible chatter and heels speeding by.

'Sí... Un hospital...' It took me a while to convert my thoughts into their English form. Then it took my a while to realize that, that wasn't English, that was... Spanish, ah yes. Spanish. My brain was working remarkably slower than usual for a morning. Or was it morning? Yes, definitely. It smelled like one.  
I was probably drugged. No, I was certainly drugged. Not like I sneaked heroin in between my classes and therefore I knew the feeling, I was just hoping I was drugged. Otherwise the only explanation for my mental sluggishness had to be a lobotomy. Gawd, anything but my brain.

I tried to move my fingers.

'They work yes, neat... They feel strange, but they're working. Or are they?'

I finally opened my eyes. Relieved, I waved myself hello with my hands. And then...

"Oh..." I tried to articulate.

Definitely drugged. The pain that belonged with that kind of damage would have been impossible to ignore if not under the effect of some strong pain killer. And given that I perfectly understood the gravity of my injuries, it would have been hard to believe that I would have remained that calm under normal circumstances.

What happened.

I closed my eyes as hard as could, trying to ignore any external stimulus. I needed to reconstruct whatever events I could get my hands on.

'Gah...' Nothing. I couldn't concentrate. My brain had too many useless thought-tabs opened in a mind that was running as smoothly as Internet Explorer. It felt as if my brain couldn't breathe.

I opened my eyes and noticed the television was, indeed, on. The news.  
I sighed. My foreign movie theory was prettier.

'Okay. Enough.'

I looked around to find the button to call a nurse or whoever was in charge of me. When I extended my left arm, I wondered who the hell had tattooed me so unprofessionally. It was a fraction of a second later that I understood the 'tattooed' were actually bruises. Dun-dun.

Did I get hit by a car? That one seemed like the most plausible theory, except for the fact that I didn't remember getting out of the Wem House. Wam House. Wammy's House.

I shook my head trying to clear it. It wasn't of any use, unless I was looking to get dizzy. I decided to focus on the buttons I'd press.

There were two: a green one and a red one. The green one is the one that's used to call for regular aid. The red one is for the kind of situations where your life is in danger. Like an UFO attack inside your room. That is, that's the one pressed in an emergency.

I pressed the red one.

A blink later, an army of nurses and one doctor shouting orders had appeared in my room. The doctor had rushed to the monitor, a nurse had rushed to my bedside table to look for whatever the doctor commanded, another took care of removing the pillows in case any action was involved, someone was messing with the IV bags on the pole next the monitor, and the last one was getting the peripheral venous catheter ready for whatever there was to be ready about. It was the greatest spectacle of all times.

The whole rush of the moment met its end so suddenly, that I thought somebody would have to check again on that whole inertia theory. The urgency dropped dead, but it took them another few seconds to realize what was going on. The look on their faces was the kind of image you'd expect to find under ''What'' if you looked it up on the dictionary.

And then they all turned to me suddenly, still too confused to light their torches and burn the rest of my body down.

'She isn't really dying.' They understood.

No. I wasn't. But I figured they'd pay more attention to an emergency than a 'green code'. Dahell cares about those?

It's impressive how regardless of the multiple disadvantages I seemed to be dealing with, my 'cad'-component had remained intact.

"My foot is itchy." I spoke out as well as I could.

The biggest sigh I've ever yet witnessed took place.

The nurses turned around and left the room one after the other, mumbling things comprehensible only to themselves. The doctor stayed behind, staring at me. He looked startled.

"Y-You're awake..." He said.  
"No. I'm a hologram."

He blinked with surprise. Maybe not a fan of jokes.

"What happened to me? Where am I?"

Oh, great. Why wasn't I surprised?  
He took out a small lantern out of his pocket and, pushing my forehead slightly back, shoved it around my eyes to check my pupils' dilatation. Either that or he was taking revenge for pressing the red button. Since I saw him laugh relieved, I didn't think so.

He grabbed a stool and sat by my bed.

"Hello Ayn, how are you feeling?"

Ayn?  
I could only figure someone had brought me in under a fake name.

"High." I shrugged.

He wouldn't take off that look of astonishment from his face. I was probably a medical miracle. Either that or his first patient to have ever survived. I was kinda hoping for the first.

I was going to speak again but I found myself stopping to hold my head. Things were becoming blurry. I started to feel a general pain emerging "I'm starting to feel pain again." I turned to him, this time with more emotion.

He looked down on his clock and nodded. He stood up to give me yet more morphine.

"I'm at the British Red Cross." I answered myself one my previous question, since Dr. Hibbert there seemed quite useless at answering them.

He looked down at me.

"How do you know?"  
"The scrubs' colour."  
"Do you know every hospital in Winchester's scrubs' colours?"

Yes. But true, though, why?

"There are many things I don't even know why I know." I explained.

He nodded and sat down again.

"Listen, Ayn... Do you remember anything of what happened to you?"

All I remembered was that L and Watari were coming. I remem...  
_Oh my God, B_! It had been more than a week. What had happened? Had he returned?

I covered my eyes, in horror. I had to know what had happened. Had he returned as promised? Was he alright? Had he told everybody what was going on?

Where was everybody?

The doctor beside me noticed I was becoming rather restless, and sympathetically rested a hand in my shoulder.

"Ayn are you alright? It's okay if you can't remember right now, I'm here to help, okay?"  
"Tell me what happened." I removed my hands from my face.

Serenity was returning. It was probably the morphine.  
His face looked worried.

"You'll learn soon enough, okay? But for now I think it's best if you rest."  
"But..."  
But I've been resting for 9 days.

He smiled at me authoritatively. The discussion was over.

I laid back and closed my eyes waiting for the sleep to kick in.

Before dozing off, I heard his decisive steps suddenly stop at the front of my bed. He quickly returned and grabbed what I assumed to be the telly remote lying on my bedside table, because the next thing I noticed was how the television's high pitched noise had ceased.

He didn't return the remote to my bedside table, though.

I smiled at myself, knowing that in all consciousness I would have been worried.

* * *

_What are chocolates and diamonds when there are such things as reviews to show love? :D_


	24. Part III - Chapter II: Beyond All

_Heh. This one's a long one, sorry. Tell me what your thoughts are! :)_

* * *

**Beyond All Brought Chaos**

"You see things die before they do." I told him "That is, however, not your biggest problem. Your biggest problem is that you will never get rid of that problem."

I stopped half nervously, to pull off some grass. I sniffed.

"One of my first impressions of you, was that there was nobody out there who would ever comprehend the meaning, the implications, the necessity of death, like you would. And I don't necessarily mean physical death here, I mean, the death of events, of times, of... anything. It was the way you approached things, the way you approached me, I think, that gave me this idea. You approach things with a certain reluctance... Not supposing, but knowing that they will end. Knowing that it's necessary. Knowing it better than anyone I have ever met, but, to my surprise, knowing it better than me. This is what worries me the most since, in the end, even if we're having this conversation right here and right now, your head is years ahead, in a world where this conversation has already happened. In a world where this conversation can not take place. Far off in an aloof future, where this that is happening right now has already happened, and is nothing but a bitter source of nostalgia."

When I turned around, B was staring back at me with horror. I had never seen him look at me like that before, and I had a feeling I never wanted to see that face again. My words were probably harder than I could understand. It left me thinking, almost regretting what I'd said.

He cracked a smile that said just that. 'Yeah. But you don't understand.'

He then pulled a knife and stabbed me in the stomach, still looking at me in the eyes.

I looked down to see the wound. I wouldn't survive it. Not that much blood loss. Nobody could survive it. I wouldn't survive it.

I spat blood and ran my trembling fingers through my lips.

"B-B..." I tried to mumble. But the shivering was impairing my speech. It was getting awfully cold.  
I looked at him in the eyes, but I could no longer find the reassurance of their reason. His eyes no longer brought balance, they were scratched all over with chaos.

"The numbers are changing." He laughed manically as he pressed my right cheek with his long, pale fingers, that were, inexplicably unstained, regardless of the action they'd just committed.

I knew that I wouldn't survive it.

I closed my eyes.

* * *

The taste of saltiness. A tear had made it into my mouth.

I swiped it off and then let my hand run through my face.

I had a nasal cannula. Which is a fancy term for 'tube stuck in your nose', if you ask me. I had always complained to my dad about how ridiculous doctors would get about some of their terms. I mean try to say '_Sternocleidomastoid_' ten times. How is 'flesh string' no better?

My nose wasn't broken. I exhaled relieved. Not the nose. Maybe there was a God.

I touched the rest of my face and, as a result, I found myself twitching in pain multiple times, still continuing to feel my face's surface to check the damage. I was pretty bruised. I could only guess what I must have looked like in the mirror.

I tried to move my feet. They seemed to be responding, but the left one however hurt a lot. It was probably pretty busted. Yet another exhalation of gratitude. They were working nonetheless.

"Are you awake?" I heard a voice.

It was a whisper, so I couldn't really distinguish it. I jumped psychotically.  
I don't know what had happened to whatever self-control I thought I had, but I started crying immediately. I became insanely scared, uneasy and paranoid. I was aware of how much unlike me I was acting, but I couldn't really put and end to my behavior, nor find its reason.

"A! A! Wake up!" Roger's voice, which sounded for the first time, preoccupied.

I opened my eyes and met his blue eyes, hidden behind the same old pair of glasses. I managed to stop hyperventilating once the stranger had been identified, but I still couldn't bring myself to stop sobbing. I didn't know why I'd freaked out like that. Specially considering how pretty alright I'd been that morning. Maybe it was just my nightmare affecting me? Mnnh. I didn't think so. I had also been pretty calm up until I'd heard the 'unknown' voice.

I became aware of a warmth between my legs. Perfect. I'd wet the bed too.

Roger put a hand on my back which was possibly the closest thing to a hug he could ever offer anybody. After a few minutes, I had calmed down again.

I sniffed, trying to regain my sense of humor and make the whole scene that had just taken place disappear.

"Don't tell B about this." I sniffed, joking.

There was no reply.

After clicking on the green button, I turned to see if Roger had heard me.

He had. His face was bearer of only bad news, which he probably still wasn't going to give me. I mean, considering, right?

I frowned, worried.

"What? He didn't come back?"  
But of course he hadn't. My questions were just protocol.

He sat down on a sofa against the wall. By the sound it made, I noticed the walls weren't exactly thick. Roger sighed profoundly.

I wiped away what was left of my tears, not used to the fact that the use of bold movements made my face ache.

Ah, the bruises. Right.

Man, I hadn't wet the bed since I was a toddler, and I hadn't cried since I was... When did The Lion King come out again?

I pressed the green button again, annoyed by the waiting.

"What _can_ you tell me?"  
"You are in the British Red Cross, you've been in a coma for about 9 days, you were hit by a car..." He started listing facts without much emotion, trying to work out what was worthy of mention and what of those things could be mentioned.  
"I'm sorry." I interrupted "I meant, what can you tell me that I haven't already figured out?"

He smiled. It was rare when he smiled.

"You should have died." The smile vanished.

That wasn't actually important to mention. It was just an expression of fear and relief and wonder. One that he probably couldn't help but let escape his lips.  
There was something I was forgetting... But first there was something else to deal with.

I pressed the red button.

Another army of nurses and doctor Hibbert were at it again.  
The same spectacle took place.

I was looking at Roger's expression of disconcert. Maybe I was traumatized, but I could apparently still amuse myself if I chose to.

When everybody turned their faces at me, not exactly happy, I requested very amiably whether they could change my bed-sheets. And bring me dry clothes. And I would have said I wanted to take a shower too, but I didn't wanna push it.

A nurse sighed and angrily told me to use the red button only for emergencies. Maybe our concepts of emergency simply happened to differ from each other.

Moments later, after the circus had moved on, another nurse returned with hospital clothes and a new set of bed-sheets. She and Roger helped me off the bed, which was an opportunity I took to become extremely conscious of how much pain there really was in question. It was quite a lot, but I was expecting worse to be honest. It wasn't something I wouldn't be able to handle.

After I was re-located in the sofa, Roger left the room and Nurse Joy handed me my clothes. She didn't look while I changed, but stayed in the room in case I needed any help. Pulling up my pants was harder than I would have ever expected it to be, but I kept trying to do it by myself, regardless how much it strained me, until I finally succeeded.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" The woman was nice, didn't hold me a grudge for being a pain in the ass. I would have asked her for a tea, but upon touching my lips, maybe it wasn't such a good idea.

I smiled, distracted.  
"No, thanks."

She nodded.

"Press the green button if you need me." She smiled at me before walking out the door.

A few moments later, Roger was entering again.

"Roger?" I tried to hide my 'I am testing you' tone "Could you pass me the remote, please?"

He frowned and took his time.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to watch television right now."  
Shocker.

I nodded, considering his reply. I watched him carefully as he sat.

"Can I eat solid food?"

He thought about it.

"I don't think so."  
"Are there any card decks lying around?"  
"I don't know. I don't like playing cards anyway."

What he didn't like was _life_, but okay.

"Who said anything about you? I meant to practice my magic tricks."

He sighed. If he didn't like children, I wasn't doing his image of them any favor. But that was the idea.  
Whether I could get him out of the room with an actual quest or not, the quest itself was not the point. Roger disliked childishness and I could use that trait to my advantage. I'd just have to keep on bothering him with stupid things until he actually agreed to get me something, regardless of what his actual purpose was. Be it leaving the room to get me what I wanted or to get away from me, he'd leave the room. It would be to get away from me, though.

"Do they have vending machines here?"  
"I just told you you can't eat solid food."  
"But what about a soda?"  
"That too."  
"Are you sure?"  
"No."  
"Can't you ask?"  
"No."  
"Are you sure?"

He didn't strangle me because loved his personal space too much to go to prison, but he made no effort to hide his irritation when he stood up.

"Fine, I'll go ask."  
I didn't think he'd be really going to ask. But that was better.

I slightly patted my own head and called it a good girl. Then I made a note to myself not to do that again, at least until I had fully recovered.

I sat staring at my own feet, playing with them. They were not the problem, my right foot would handle it. The actual problem came to me when I rose my sight: the cardiac monitor wouldn't let me go too far, as it was plugged to the wall. If I accidentally unplugged it, I'd have yet another army of nurses within a second, to defibrillate my suddenly 'motionless' heart.

I inhaled. I exhaled. Gus-fucking-fraba.

I stood up, holding a part of my weight on the IV pole. My arms hurt way more than my legs, but curiosity had always won over anything else.

I grabbed the saline, or whatever actually hung from the pole, and held it with my teeth. Next, I used the pole to reach the buttons on the television. It was a Phillips, so I knew that if I managed to press either of the 'channel' buttons down on its left, I'd have turned the television successfully.  
Believe it or not, it worked. After a few failed attempts (one of them almost resulting in an unmeasurable destruction of hospital property), I reached my goal and put the pole to a rest and the saline where it belonged.

I had my heart in my throat, knowing Roger could be back any minute.

"Or any hour." I calmed myself down.

There wasn't any volume on the television, but the news were on. While I couldn't hear what was said, to read the titles would be enough. Now it was just a matter of sitting, waiting and providing a fair share of hoping for the best.

I tried to bite my nails nervously, but it hurt to even think about it, so I just carried a series of wanton hand movements to shake off the anxiety.

A panda had been born at a zoo in China.  
I tilted my head, sighing frustrated. This was going to take some time.

Michael Caine received a knighthood from the Queen.

"What is this nation even up to?"

'The theft of £350 million worth of diamonds from the Millennium Dome is foiled by police'.  
Ah. That was a rather interesting title. I'd read upon it later.

Great. Now commercials. I had started to grow even more impatient. I'd have to turn the telly off at some point, just in case anybody walked in.

When the news came back on, I found exactly what I'd been looking for. It had to be the one, there was no other explanation.

Time slowed down to bullet time terms.

A car accident in Winchester. One injured. One deceased. But the interesting detail was, that the cause of dead wasn't related to the accident, because the driver had made it to walk out of his car and check on his victim, to then receive multiple stabs to the stomach. He never made it to the hospital. No, of course he didn't. Not with that much...

"...blood loss." The words escaped my lips and I automatically raised my fingertips at them, wondering if any more words were willing to come out. No luck.

A case so strange was too unlikely to take place, ever. I mean, what are the odds? What is the explanation behind all that?

I had too many questions running through my head, but the selection process was difficult, because another thought was starting to take possession of my mind. It was only mere intuition that sustained my theory, but I was starting to grow afraid of what participation B could have had in all that.  
I would have rather focused on fact-based theories, but I had only a few news lines and a damaged brain. The idea kept rolling in my mind, nonetheless. It was sitting and waiting for me the corner of my head, smirking, as if saying '_Just wait. You'll understand me soon enough_.'

The television wasn't going to give me much more that could be of help. I took the saline off the pole again and used the latter to unplug the telly. I figured it was a much easier method to carry out than fishing buttons.

I put everything back on its place, including myself, and waited for Roger to return, who took his damn time. I got the feeling I could have watched Dr. Zhivago (director's cut) twice and he would have still never noticed my deceit.

My internal complaining diminished when he came back with a coke.

I smiled at him, contented.

I hadn't noticed it up until then, but I hadn't drank a coke since...

I wondered whether the bubbles would feel funny, but I took a few sips nonetheless.

Sweet mother of Jeezas.

I loved coke. I never wanted to part ways with it again. Sugar and caffeine and chemicals taken to a whole other level.

I noticed after a while that Roger was staring at me as if, even if he would have wanted to stop, he wouldn't have been able to help it.

I put my coke can on the floor and turned to him.

"How bad is it?"

He curved his lips, wondering whether he should answer.

I shook my head.

"I wanna see it."  
"I don't th-"  
"For Christ's Sake! I wanna see my face...!" I sighed.

He finally agreed the request and set off to find me a mirror. Lucky for me, it took him less time than when he'd gone down to the dungeons of the hospital to find me a can of coke.

I finished my drink while he was at it.

I didn't stop to wonder whether it'd be a good idea. I stared at my face half horrified, half filled with curiosity.

I hadn't noticed my hair had been cut. It was really short now, but I wouldn't be able to decide how bad or good it looked considering the monster I'd become. My eyelids were black due to the accumulation of blood in them. My right eye looked bloody, which made me wonder why Roger wasn't shivering in a corner, surrounded with crucifixes and garlic garlands. There was also some for of gash over the corner my right eyebrow. I feared it'd leave a scar.

"W-Well..." I said after a while.

Roger leaned slightly forward in his seat, listening.

"I guess things don't look too bad for your business." I cleared my throat, setting the mirror aside. I pulled half a grin at his disconcert "It's not like I can pursue a model career like this. I might have to settle with the detective thing after all."

He sort of smiled. There was something dishonest about it.


	25. Part III - Chapter III: Coward

**Coward**

When I was informed I'd be going home, I felt relief, I was glad. But the truth is, going back to the Wammy's House was definitely not what I'd thought it would be.

For one thing, if I'd ever been a bit of a freak, you can imagine what I was now. I was no longer referred to as 'The Princess', I was now popularly known as 'Big Foot', since my left foot was kinda unsightly. Can't say that was the deal breaker, though. It was actually quite a clever joke. But as much as I would have liked to be the tough protagonist who didn't care about the disturbing way she'd be stared at, at some point I could no longer ignore their looks and started to avoid leaving my room when possible. Possibly that behavior expanded on the whole mythical aspect of my new alias, since you know, I was rarely seen.

But staying in my room wasn't only because of the stares. There was also my foot, yes, but I noticed how some strange form of paranoia would take control of me, specially at night.

I always kept a light on and never decided to go to sleep. I'd wait in my bed reading or entertaining myself until I fell asleep without noticing it: it was that whole part of waiting alone in the dark, lying defenseless in my bed, that would make me very uneasy.

During the day I'd also spend my time reading under the bed-sheets, as if that would offer me some magical form of protection. While I knew there was no rational reason to believe either of these measures were protecting me from any invisible threats, it contributed to my overall remaining bits of sanity. I know some of these things might sound normal for eight year olds, but I was seventeen. I mean, do the math.

And when a mini bar had been transferred to my bedroom, leaving my chambers became each time less necessary. My pills were at my bedside table, my books were lying around, I had a few cases to entertain myself with in case I got bored (suspiciously all of them were about thefts or heists, and with no real violence involved). I felt they were giving me everything I could need in case I'd thought of escaping myself. I sighed, grinning. Good thinking.

I had a lot of nightmares, but I never seemed to remember more than the usual. B was in them, at least for the most part. I usually died in a lot of them. God, where was him? Nobody wanted to tell me what was happening, but it was hinted that L was chasing after him. I wondered why I wasn't exactly reassured.

"Ah, yes. Nothing good ever comes out of Roger or Watari keeping secrets from me." I reflected.

But looking at it on the other side, maybe I deserved it. I had kept a big secret from them after all.

Francis Ruvie had flown down to Winchester after a slightly desperate call from his brother. He offered me medication, but after I blatantly laughed in his face, it was settled that we would just talk, in my room of course. My preferred conversation style has usually a lot of long pauses, which I remembered would make him go all 'What are you thinking about?' To avoid answering that, I'd usually suggest we played a chess game.

"I'm concentrating on the game." I'd reply. But it was a bit of a lie really. Whether it was because he'd do it on purpose as to stroke my ego or to test my reactions, he'd lose in the first couple of moves. I'd stretch the game as best as I could, but after a certain point it was obvious who would win.

Shrink Ruvie would also give me an IQ test to complete every two weeks. As they weren't too elaborate, the results, I was assured, were only 'estimation'. It was mostly a mix of pattern exercises, a few math problems, physics problems, etc.

The result of my first attempt set my IQ around the 138 points.

"How do you feel about this?" He'd hold that calm smile of his, despite the fact that I sat openly bummed out in front of him.

I sighed, upset.

"Like if I became any dumber you'd have to water me twice a week."

He laughed out loud with that very characteristic laughter of his.

Finally, the two weeks had passed and it was time for me to try my luck at the IQ test again. I was so nervous that marking my answers with my pencil took an effort, since my palms were sweaty and therefore slippery. Above all I had him there, sitting all observant.

145 points. Still not good enough, but I was relieved to find I was improving.

With the pass of the time, it was also my bruises that started to get better. What used to look aggressively black or dark purple started to turn green and then yellow. Eventually I was relieved to find that there were no longer any more bruises, except for a few tiny little yellow marks that would disappear any day soon.

My bloody eye was almost completely back to normal, and as for my foot, while it was too recovering pretty alright, I'd avoid using shoes at all times, or else the scar tissue would sometimes act up.

There was a tiny mark above my right eyebrow where no hair would grow. I guessed something ought to stay. There was also one in my lower lip, but that one was more discreet. I was still quite aware of it, though. It would stare into my soul every time I looked on the mirror.

At first I would often try to grab my hair, forgetting it was no longer there, but with the time I also got used to it being short, and grew kinda fond of it.

Slowly but consistently, my body started to become its old self.

'But what about me?' I wondered one morning, slurping a cup of coca-cola.

He knocked three times, the same way he always would.

"Francis." I greeted, still concentrated on the window.  
"A." Something in his tone told me he still couldn't get used to calling me in such an impersonal way.

There was a long pause. I was surprised he hadn't interrupted. I finally spoke out.

"Why did you think this was a good idea?"

I wasn't blaming him for anything. Or on second thoughts, maybe I was.

"What idea?"  
"Forget it." I sighed.

He remained still, ever smiling.

He knew what I meant. Why had he thought talking to Watari about me would be a good idea? Did he know what he was getting me into? If he had never talked to Watari I would be completely oblivious to anything related to this stupid world and...

'_I just think you're looking for someone to tell you that you're right. And you're wrong_.' B's words came back to me, along with the rest of the discussion we'd had. I had chosen this. Everything that had happened was on my own account.

'_Hm. Yes. Seeing it like this, maybe it will be your fault_.'

He was right. And, as usual, I just didn't like it.

"I am..." I stopped to consider the extent of my emotions "Indescribably depressed."

I didn't see it as confession or a secret. It was the simple action of stating a fact. There was nothing more to expand on, or describe, or cry about. The sentence sufficed.

"Have you thought about what to do about it?"

I chuckled. He waited.

"Some things we just have to live with."  
"Oh, come on..." He teased me.

I laughed again, upset, angry, amused, sad. All at the same time. It was all very confusing.

"Ruvie..." I called him in a calm voice tone, with the same esteem I would have called his brother with, when everything was alright between us "I don't have a real name anymore. One of the persons I value the most is chasing after my best friend. The first one, if I have seen again, I can not remember. The second one, I sincerely doubt I'll ever see again. I do not understand, (and what's worse, nobody wants me to understand) what the whole situation is truly about. I am fearing over things I can't comprehend. I have fears I can't comprehend. I no longer wish to sleep, afraid of dreaming, afraid of being caught defenseless. I rarely leave my room. I feel, as much as you like to laugh about it, quite stupid. I feel very unlike myself. I feel guilty, and scared, and angry. Above all, I don't feel any hope..."

I took a deep breath. It was different to admit things inside my own head than admitting them out loud, to someone else.

"Whatever is to happen, I can do nothing about it. I have to accept whatever is deemed appropriate for me from now on. And I do not complain much about it either, because I feel like I've earned it. I am absolutely 100% guilty of my every action. And regardless of how much information I'm denied, I am sure the results will not be good. I am ashamed of myself."

I wasn't going to cry. No.  
Not in front of him at least.

He listened intently, more serious about what he was hearing.

"Is that how you're going to make things right?" He wondered.

I shrugged.

"Things can't be made right at this point."

He looked down for one moment, calmly.

"A, do you think you're being punished?"

I took a brief moment to consider it.

"No. I think I'm being protected."  
"Did anybody... My brother, Watari, L..." He got lost in his listing "Did anybody ever really blame you for this? Are they purposely keeping you locked up here..? No, that wasn't the question I was looking for. Did anybody..?"

I knew where he was going, so I interrupted.

"No. But somebody's got to."  
"And is that for you to decide?"

Was it? No, but...

I sighed.  
But...

I shrugged.

"Do you know what I think you're doing?"

"You're not supposed to tell me."

He smiled, waiting. He knew I was curious to know.

"Alright. Shoot." I sat back in my bed, watching him do the same in his chair.

"That it's a pretty coward way to redeem yourself." His smile widened, waiting for my "ha."  
Coward?

"You're trying to convince yourself that the more you suffer, the more you succumb into your own punishments, your mistakes will be repaid, as if it was all some question of unmet justice. Well, let me tell you something: it's not. It's not gonna change what's happened, it's not gonna make anybody any good (specially not you), and you'll be paying with your own pain to nobody, since nobody's asking for it (and nobody is worthy of asking for it, believe me). Now. You're a smart girl, in fact, you're smarter than me. I'm sure that if you look into what I'm telling you, you'll find that perpetrating your own misery is not only absolutely useless but coward-like."

"Supposing for a moment here that I found your argument even remotely consistent..."

I felt my sarcastic self emerge again, if slightly. I gave him half a smile.

"How does that make me a coward?"

He grinned.

"Yes, A, how does that make you a coward?"

I sighed. I liked him better when he just gave me the answers instead of the questions.  
His laughter filled my room again.

"I think we have filled the progress requirements for today." He read my mind.  
"Care for a game?" I set the pieces on the chess board at the other bottom of my bed.  
"Oh, I'd be thrilled."


	26. Part III - Chapter IV: Analyze This

**Analyze This**

The birth of Christ, the death of A.  
It had a dramatically egocentric cling to it, so I'd have to kill myself before Christmas. Or after. But I didn't want to wait for too long. I couldn't risk anybody taking notice of my intentions.

"It'll be snowing." I curved my lips half worried. I wondered how far my foot would be able to take me. It was doing just fine, but I didn't want to push anything. It's not like after they'd figured out I'd gone missing (and with what intentions) I'd be given a moment's breath. On top of that, not only did they have a whole house of geniuses (that disliked me) at their disposition, they had also the greatest detective of the world on their side.

"Hah." I exhaled, half amused. "Well. Let him come and stop me... If he really can."

I pushed those concerns aside as I tried to focus on cutting my hair right. The length was alright, but it didn't really have a form to it. After a good half an hour I had trimmed my back and sides perfectly, it all came down to decide how I wanted it to look like from the front side.

I breathed in, considering my options carefully.

How did I want to look?

I ruffled my hair in all ways possible and ended up choosing something simple, and easy to hide in case I didn't truly like it: a not too ostentatious side fringe. I patiently moved each correspondent hair streak and cut it confidently, liking the sound of the scissors as they went.

'I look good.' I smiled, contented with my work.

I took all the hair lying on the sink and disposed of it. I took a last good look at the mirror before leaving the bathroom. I'd have to dye my hair too.

I still had trouble sleeping at night, but with the time, I got used to re-adjusting some of my behaviors (most of them thanks to Francis, although as self-sufficient as I am, I'd rather attribute the merit to myself). There were some rooms where I still wouldn't go, such as B's bedroom or the Music Room, but overall I had no problem coming out of my shell.

It was because of Francis too, that I'd come to 'that' decision. Can't say I'm not grateful. He was right.

One afternoon after class, I marched the stairs up and met Francis at his office. Yes, he'd been given an office.

"A." He greeted me, lifting his sight from some pages he'd been scribbling on.  
"Two." I teased him.

And after a friendly smile, he stuck to the same routine. He'd ask how I was doing, I'd sarcastically reply 'fine'. Then he'd ask what I'd been up to and then I'd start rambling about the most unimportant of things, as if to drift away from the things that were actually bothering me, from the things I should actually be talking to him about.

But eventually he'd start asking more direct questions.

"How do you feel about B?"  
I looked down, pulling a face.

How I felt about B? Well, he was still missing, for one thing. And it was, at least partially, still my fault. I didn't know if he was sane or not. If he was dead or alive. No, alive... I reassured myself, I'm sure he's alive.

"I sometimes have nightmares about him." I confessed indistinctly, but it actually took effort.  
"What are they about?"  
"He kills me. With a knife. And then he says unreasonable things about some numbers." I shrugged, scratching the tiny but funny spot over my right eyebrow. I didn't want to talk about him anymore.  
He curved his lips, concerned.  
"What about the numbers?"  
"Like I said, they don't make sense." I tried to discard the topic. But upon considering it, I was curious as to what my subconscious could mean, so I told him "He says something like... 'The numbers are changing'."

He nodded, but changed the conversation's direction.

"Alright. But you see, I asked you how you felt about him and you answered me with something else."  
"It should pretty much give you a clue, shouldn't it?"  
"Me? Clues? I don't need clues, A." He smiled "I'm not here to solve you."

He was there so that I would solve myself.  
I exhaled. Okay, I nodded.

"I'm... Angry?"

He nodded. It was a good start.

"At him, for not returning. At myself, for believing that he would. For not alerting anybody about him acting strange from the start..."

I looked up to see if he was surprised or judging me. He wasn't.  
I breathed normally, hugging my legs close to my chest as to think.

"That makes me quite miserable. Guilt."  
He didn't say anything, so I went on.

"I'm also scared. I'm scared for him... For his health, both physical and mental. I'm scared because, I don't know why he's running. I don't know what he'll do, or if he's done anything. I'm also scared _of_ him..." I tried to explain myself, but I couldn't.  
"Scared of him? Why?"

Of course he'd ask that.

"I don't know. I don't have a reasonable fundament to give you. Maybe it's just my nightmares."

He smiled. Did I really believe that?

"How much is 23 times 857?"

I bit my lip, that's easy.

"19711."  
"Well, I have no way of checking on that, but I'll assume you're right."  
"That's a smart assumption."

He smiled.

"How much is 3657 divided by 1.8?"

I chuckled. He was putting an effort.

"You hit like a girl." I teased "2031.66667."  
"Why are you scared of B?"

My smile vanished.

"I don't know."  
"Why are you scared of B, A?"

I buried my face in my knees, closing my eyes.

"No reason."  
"Do you believe in effects without causes?"

No, I didn't.  
He took a deep breath.  
I was shutting my eyes so tightly I thought I'd break my eyelids.  
He asked again.

"Why are you afraid of B?"

I pretended I didn't hear him. There was just no reasoning with him.

"A... Why are you afraid of-...?"

My own response startled me.

"BECAUSE HE FUCKING KILLED SOMEONE!" I faced him irritated, angry, fighting the urge to punch him. My heart felt heavy, my chest short of breath.

I was so shocked at my own response I shut my mouth with my hands. I breathed in and out hardly, ashamed of my conduct, surprised at my choice of words.

He didn't seem bothered by my reply at all. Quite on the contrary, I could see him fighting a smile.  
Soon enough, I'd regained my composure. I sat correctly in my chair, leaning back. We stared at each other.

What had been said could not be unsaid.

"I don't know why I said that."

He just held my gaze.

"I have no reason to believe that"

Silence.

"I have no memory of him ever doing that."

More silence.

"He never gave me a reason to believe he could _kill_ someone."

His smile widened.

"You're not a stupid girl." He finally gave me the satisfaction of filling the room with words. It was curious. I'd never thought I could get satisfaction out of that "But I think you're trying hard to be."  
"Eh..." I exhaled, fixing my gaze over his.

He waited for me.

"What are you even implying?"  
"Yes. What am I even implying?"

I frowned.

"T-" My head clicked "That I'm a coward..."

His grin was all the confirmation I needed.

But of course.  
It was true that I didn't know anything about B. I had amnesia. Roger and Watari were keeping information from me. Those were my two main excuses. 'I don't know, because they won't tell me. It is not my fault, it is theirs. How could I be blamed? I've lost my memory'.

And then there was also an excuse for the excuse: my guilt. The whole argument that I had no right to complain, that I deserved it.

In reality it all came down to something very, very simple.

I'd solved murder cases, I'd learnt new languages, I was still lusting over the idea that I could steal a rocket from the NASA without them noticing if I wanted to (I just didn't want to). That I couldn't figure out what had happened to me and B by myself, was most implausible. If I had really wanted to, if I had even tried to, I would have realized what had happened long ago.

I remembered fourteen year old me shaking her first suspect's coat like crazy, based on a hunch, refusing to leave without the piece of evidence that would prove my case. I remembered fourteen year old me walking out successful.

I simply hadn't learnt what had happened because I was scared to find the truth, fearing I wouldn't like it. I'd hidden behind lame excuses to cover my own cowardice.

I laughed Tom Cruise style and lifted my sight.

"You... You..." I pointed my index at him, shaking it. "You've got a gift my friend, you've got a gift."

Good God, it was possibly the best Paul Vitti imitation there ever was and ever would be again.  
He got my reference.

"This is why you're my favourite Ruvie." I told him jokingly.  
"Can I be 'One' then?"  
"No, sorry. You're still 'Two'." There was nothing that could be done about it.

He accepted it reluctantly.  
"At least it's not 'Big Foot'."

His face expressions agreed.

I left short after, but what we'd talked about stayed in my mind the rest of the day.

'Something has to be done,' I knew, 'something has to be done'.

That night (more like morning considering the time)I fell asleep on the carpet. I'd been lying on the floor, staring at the chandelier pointed to my face. Idea after idea, connections and re-connections, thoughts and more thoughts. It hadn't taken me much to find a solution. What had taken me long was trying to find an alternative to the solution. There wasn't any.

'A coward, eh?'  
My eyelids were not listening to me anymore.  
'I have... to kill the coward."

My thinking began to blur.

I was asleep.

* * *

_Let me know how you're liking the story! :)_


	27. Part III - Chapter V: Break Out

_Hey guys,_

_This one's a bit long and may be a little dull, sorry._

_Hope you can forgive it._

* * *

**Break Out**

I woke up before the bells tolled, but waited to hear them to open my eyes anyway.

"Today." I whispered to myself, frozen under my bed sheets.

I removed them and took a look outside the window. Snow. I involuntarily smiled. It wasn't good, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

I extended my hand out the window.

"Brr." I pulled it back inside.

Maybe it was a good day to choose after all. If I was lucky enough, that much cold could freeze the river in a few days. But that was wishful thinking.

I went down to have breakfast, had my classes, rented a few books and stopped by Francis' office afterwards. It all seemed like a normal day. I tried to convince myself that it was, but I knew too well that it wasn't.

That night, wandering outside in my socks, the cold convinced me to go back inside and pour myself some 'illegal' coffee from the kitchen. It'd be the last time time I'd be stealing stuff from the kitchen, I smiled to myself. I wondered if they would miss that.

I chuckled mischievously. Probably not that.

I stepped on my tip toes and got myself my favourite mug. Seventeen years of life had apparently not been long enough to develop a more useful height.

The espresso machine would have been a waste of noise and time. I still had plenty of time, I knew. But there was something about the internal ticking in my head that made everything seem as if there wasn't any.

I poured the hot water and then a spoonful of instantaneous coffee.

I remained silent watching a swirl in my mug dance around its bubbles. I don't know how long I was out, but by the time I snapped out of my trance and had a sip, the coffee's temperature wasn't my favourite anymore.

First it was the change in the room's aroma that I noticed, then that it had been brought by the introduction of someone else's presence. I thought he'd be with L in an hotel by then.  
"Remember when you told me the story of Frankestein?" I asked, not looking up.

I started calmly playing with the spoon in my cup. Too calmly. It was not that the coffee hadn't been well dissolved, it was a purposeless movement. The kind I'd do to hide nervousness, but would, ironically, reveal it.

Watari cleared his throat, ever peaceful, aborting a curved smile. I remembered that characteristic of his well. You'd be about to tell him about this one thing you were wondering, or that you'd found out, or that you could not quite understand yet, and he'd listen carefully, not uttering a word until you were finished, (sometimes not even after), with that very same stare he was looking at me with then, openly resisting the impulse to smile. It was the smile of having understood before any explanations were needed, expressed in the form of an attentive silence.

"Yes, A." He said, curiosity hinted all over the reply.  
"You know, before you agreed to tell it to me, I used to believe Frankestein was the name of the monster, not of the doctor who had created it... I found it, however, that most people too, automatically think of the monster when they hear the mention of Frankestein." My spoon knocked my mug's edge three times, getting rid of remaining coffee drops "Funny enough, the monster didn't even have a name of his own."

I took another sip and, with the tip of my fingers, removed a bit of the coffee that didn't quite make it from my lips to my system. Not my favourite temperature at all.

We shared silence.

"The Adan of his job." I muttered, my mind dancing from thought to thought, until my eyes found his again. "Watari." I called him slowly. Oddly, it sounded a bit like a plea.  
"Yes?" He encouraged.  
"I think I'm beginning to grasp how mad I am." I confessed, setting my half full mug aside.  
"I know."

I couldn't look up anymore. I was going to make my way to the door and go back to my room, but then another undeveloped idea stopped me from leaving. I turned around and looked for comfort in the arms of Watari, who fatherly accepted to understand whatever it was I was striving not to. I felt like both of us were mad and sad, but only one of us fully knew why.

"I'm sorry." He uttered.  
"I'm so sorry too."

But I wasn't looking for forgiveness on past actions this time. I was looking for forgiveness for the ones that were to follow. For the pain that he was to face. I pressed my arms tightly around him, wishing there was another way.

I was strong enough to hold all but two tears. This time I really didn't deserve to cry.

I went back to my room and waited, wondering to myself if I could postpone my plans for another day.

I shook my head.

No. I had everything prepared.

I solved the few cases that I could. The ones that needed traveling or further evidence search, I wrote down all the information missing that was needed. Whoever was put in charge next would find it quite useful.

I made my bed and I laid four envelopes on it. I didn't leave one for B.

And then it was time to get dressed.  
I put on a loose T-shirt with short sleeves and sport pants.  
'Easy to put on, easy to put off.' I nodded nervously.

I'd wear a jacket too, but the less I was wearing, the better. Even if it was very unpractical for a winter.  
I took my backpack and left my room quietly. Years of sneaking into the kitchen at midnight had perfected my skills.

Once downstairs, going outside without making a lot of noise was only a question of not using either of the doors, so I went out through a window.

After that, it was unlikely that they should notice me, so I ran to the entrance fences and climbed my way out, careful not to strain my left foot just in case.

I was outside.

I inhaled, checking my pockets. That much money would afford me a cab to the train station and more. I'd never given my allowance much use anyway.

I shook my head wondering why my plans were always a bit either too twisted or complicated to carry out. I shrugged.

Walking away, I looked over my shoulder to see the Wammy's House become more and more distant. I felt anxiety. I wanted to go back and slip right back into my bed.

'No.' I looked forward.  
That was the last peek I'd ever take at the Wammy's House.

Finally, a cab noticed me and stopped to let me in. I welcomed the change of temperatures more than I had welcomed anything in my entire life.

"Woah, it's too cold to be wandering like that at this hour..!" He greeted me friendly. I could only wish he wouldn't have me talking all the way "Where am I taking you, kid?"

I cleared my throat.

"Station Road, please."

He nodded and set off to our destination.  
When we arrived, I gave him an amount considerably higher than what the journey had cost.  
He turned to me after counting the money twice.

"Wait, kid, I think you gave me too m-..." He stopped mid-sentence at the shake of my head.  
"You never drove me up here, you understand?"  
"I drove you?" He smiled.

I wasn't 100% sure he wouldn't betray our business transaction later on, but it was worth the try. He sped off after saying goodbye.

'Obviously not the train.' I thought to myself, looking around. The last thing I wanted were cameras recording my moves.

'Bus it is.' Which sucked, because the Bluestar 1 wasn't coming for at least another 15 minutes, and my hobo clothing style wasn't helping me keep up with the cold so well. It could have been worse, given that on Saturday nights, the estimated frequency between each bus' arrival was of 60 minutes.

I exhaled, impatiently.

'I'm still gonna freeze to death before I can even carry out the half of this.' I fantasized of lying in my own bed back at home.

But luckily for me, the bus did eventually arrive. I'd gotten change from an old lady who was waiting for it with me.

"To Southampton." I told the busdriver.

I wasn't happy about the price, but I guess I should have figured, since it's relatively a long distance between both places.  
I shrugged.

"Talk about a stable economy." I mumbled to myself, staring at the ticket machine.

I found a seat near the exit and tapped my feet against the floor all the way from Winchester to Shawford, which was when one of the passengers asked me very 'politely' to stop. I only did because I couldn't come up with a reply that was witty enough. Which upset me more than having to stop in the first place.

Around 32 minutes later (give or take) I had arrived my destination.  
I stepped out of the bus.

"Okay." I breathed out. "Phase one completed."

Now the really complicated part was about to start.

I checked my internal map and set off my way to Cobden Bridge, jogging. Why jogging? Well, for one thing I'd arrive faster. For another, it would help me fight the cold.

Half way there, I stopped because my left foot had started to sting. I removed the shoe and saw that the scar tissue had been slightly messed, so I was bleeding. I walked as to not unnecessarily hurt myself further, but I kept a fast pace anyway. I wasn't gonna start fucking around because I was bleeding a bit. While I was at it, I removed the cold drops of water from my face, but the snow kept making my job more and more redundant.

'Cobden Bridge.' I could see it clearer.

When I arrived, I didn't get on the bridge immediately, but instead checked the perimeter to make sure how many people would be watching, and how many wouldn't.

There weren't many pedestrians around, it was mostly just cars crossing the bridge and some boats on the other side.

"This is _so_ not going to work out." I started to lose my calamity.

I went under the bridge and threw my backpack on the ground. I looked around suspiciously. If anyone was to take the backpack...

I breathed in and out slowly. No. There was absolutely nobody.

I left it there and went back to the bridge. I walked up to its highest point.

"28 meters." I could hear my heart pumping.

I sat on the small fence barrier, looking down at River Itchen. The metal was freezing my hands, but soon I'd learn the real meaning of cold.

I waited until I was noticed.

I heard two cars stop abruptly.

"Hey! Young boy!"

I figured the short hair was confusing. I turned.

"Tell them I'm sorry."

I closed my eyes before jumping.


	28. Part III - Chapter VI: Death

**Death**

I closed my eyes before jumping.

"NO!" A man's voice.  
A woman's scream.

Then just wind crashing really fast into my face.

Do you want to know what I was thinking of as I fell into my non-existence?

I wasn't thinking about B, nor Watari, nor Roger. Not even about L.  
I wasn't thinking about the Bordas or my former school.  
I wasn't thinking of my parents.

I wasn't thinking of anything poetic, heroic or romantic. I didn't have an epic last line or last thought. Definitely not something worthy of recording.

What I _did_ think of, went somewhere along the following lines:

'Oh my God, I did it. I really did it.  
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.  
I'm an idiot.  
I am _SUCH_ an idiot.  
Oh God, oh God, this looks bad. Is that ice forming?  
Whatever you do, keep your legs together.  
Whatever you do, keep your legs together.  
Why did I think this was a good idea?  
That car crash really hi-'

Cold Shock.

I hit the water and deepened down. Fast.

It was in the first few seconds that I almost died. In them I completely lost track of everything that had happened and everything I had meant to happen. Everything I had ever cared and would ever care for. I was plunging down into non-existence. That is the point where your will to live plays its cards. A second too much that you get lost in that trance of death, and you will actually let yourself die.

Everything came back together at once. My sinking speed had decreased. I was freezing. I was running out breath. Time was a key factor.

I opened my eyes again to meet real fear: darkness.

'Keep cool.' I thought to myself, trying not to get carried away by how ironic my choice of words had been.

Tachycardia. My heart was pumping so loud it was hard to keep focus. I concentrated on the bubbles. By the way they sounded, I figured I could still make it if I swam my way up. I wasn't too deep down.

It was so cold that the idea of dying wasn't so terrible.

'Swim.' I ordered myself.

My shoes were heavy, but I swam like never before.

Not up however, first I had to change my position until I was under the bridge. I had no way of checking where I was, though. I could only hope and trust my intuition.

I figured the people that had stopped their cars would be leaning out the bridge to see if I'd emerge again. If I wanted them to believe I was dead, I had to emerge under the bridge. That way they wouldn't see me when I did.

Oxygen.

Beautiful, beautiful oxygen. There was no time to stop and appreciate it artistically, so I got myself back under water and started to swim my way to the shore. I had around two minutes before the local cooling started to decrease my physical performance. While keeping my body under water wasn't the best technique to keep warmth, it was the fastest way that I could swim without making splattering noise. If I didn't make it out of the water in at least the first fifteen minutes, then I wouldn't be able to make it out by myself, and I would have failed. Or died.

I pushed whatever fear I had aside. I would either survived or I wouldn't. And as long as I had my consciousness on my side, I was going to keep fighting for my life. So you see, the way I saw it, I would survive.

I dragged my body out of the water, not allowing myself to stop for a breath.

I stood up, trembling like I never imagined I would. I didn't need to look in the mirror to know my lips were blue.

I opened my backpack to drag a new set of dry clothes out and, not caring anymore whether anybody was looking, took off my wet clothes.

I hurried to put on a new shirt and pants, repeating to myself 'Jack Dawson my ass.' inside my head.

Then I went on to put on everything else I had. Socks. Another pair of socks. Gloves, scarf, a cap to cover my wet hair, an actually warm jacket. Another set of shoes.

'I don't want to die.' I reminded myself.

I put my wet clothes in a plastic bag and noticed midway that my shoes would't fit.

'This isn't good.' But I figured they weren't exactly important. I let the river take them.

All this while I kept moving my legs as to keep my blood circulating. I didn't want my limbs to become any more numb: as they were, they hurt more than enough.

'I'm gonna live, I'm gonna live.' I kept my hopes up. 'Judging by my symptoms, my temperature must be around the 35 or 33.9°C.' My personal corporal temperature was around the 36°C, so that wasn't too bad. It was still pretty fugging cold.

I took my backpack and walked off. Worst case scenario, if anybody saw me they wouldn't be able to recognize me. I was wearing other clothes, I had my face covered, I was carrying a backpack. I'd only have to make sure they didn't get too close and noticed that I was shivering pretty badly. I encountered nobody anyway, or nobody that thought me important enough to stop me.

Once I was distant enough, I turned around to check the scene. I couldn't see too well, but there was a third car now and if my hearing wasn't tricking me, I could hear a few sirens. I tilted my head and hit my head a bit to force some water off my ear. Yup, sirens.

"Mua-ha-ha..." I tried to mutter, trembling "You'll never catch me alive... Or dead."

I was surprised to find that a cafe not too far off called "The Riverside Diner" was still open. I checked my backpack for money. I was still good.

"Two hot chocolates, please." I asked when the waitress came to take my order.  
"Are you sure? Those are like... _really_ big."

Now that was something I didn't understand. Isn't the whole purpose of restaurants or cafes to make money? Why was she advising me against it? Was she against capitalism? Was she against the roots of production?

I looked up and smiled.

"Haha, I'm just reeeally cold..! Gosh, it's freezing out there." I smiled amiably.

I had to get myself somewhere warm and, if possible, consume hot and sweet beverages. Maybe I was being too paranoid, but choosing a cafe near the bridge, just minutes after my suicide, was risky itself, so I'd have to try not to draw much attention to myself.

The waitress responded well to my reply, but that caused her to become more informal and engage in small talk. The whole purpose of not acting like myself under any circumstance, (and therefore replying politely), was that, were she to be asked by anyone, she wouldn't remember 'the jerk' that had ordered two hot chocolates that night. But if we became too friendly with each other there was also the possibility that she would remember me anyways.

I fought the impulse to bash my head against the table.

"Aw, don't even mention it. I have to walk my way back home after this."

I pulled a face that showed compassion.

"And have you taken a look at the river yet?" She asked me.

Funny you should ask.

"No, why?" I sounded genuine.  
"It's started to freeze! I haven't seen that in a long while... They say that if the temperature keeps on like this, it might actually be fully frozen in a few days."  
"No way...!" Seriously, though, no way.

She chuckled.  
"That's what I tell them!"

The river freezing was actually excellent news, if it _really_ happened. The police was going to be looking for my body, and because I wasn't really dead, they wouldn't find it. It wasn't certain to me, but if L was to investigate my suicide further for any reason, maybe the fact that there was no body would encourage the idea that I was probably still alive. Quite in fact, I feared he wouldn't suppose it, he would _know_ it.

But if the river froze, on the other hand, then their not finding me would be owed to the simple fact that they couldn't look for me.

I smiled. It was a bit of a dark smile, considering its reason, but give me a moment, yes? I'd just jumped out a bridge, survived the fall, survived the possibility of drowning and was still on my way to survive hypothermia. A month after surviving getting hit by a car.

"Anyway, it was two hot chocolates then?"

I nodded smiling.  
"They'll be out in second." She smiled before leaving.

I curled up against the window, trying to keep my shivers in order and not too noticeable until my beverages arrived.

I swallowed the first one almost immediately, absolutely not caring about the fact that it burnt my tongue in the way. And then my esophagus. And then the rest of my vital organs. I'd be lying if I said I didn't regret it immediately afterwards.

I took my gloves off and put my hands around the second glass of hot chocolate.

She was right. They _were_ big.

The second one I drank more normally. Loving how the warmth was returning to my body, and hating how my tongue couldn't taste anything right. It would last weeks, I frowned.

I chuckled slightly nonetheless.  
"I made it." I couldn't believe myself.

I paid after I'd finished and left a normal tip. Both leaving too much or too little ought to increase the memory of me.

I walked out the cafe feeling better and checked my internal to-do list.

The next most important parts of my escape were to get more money and to leave the town. More specifically: the country.

There were also small prudent precautions to be taken, such as dying my hair (maybe even getting a wig), getting new clothes, etc. But all that came back to the money issue.

I checked my clock. The water had destroyed it, which saddened me a bit. I'd gotten it as a birthday present from Watari (and the card said L too, but it was Watari's handwriting, so, yeah).

'It was Swiss.' I sighed.

It read 3.24 AM. If that was the time I'd jumped from the bridge at, and about 43 minutes had passed (give or take), then it was around 4.07 AM. I had about two hours before the sun rose. On Sundays, I didn't wake up at least until 11.30 AM. Mostly at 12 PM, but if we were to be extremely pessimistic, we'd have to round it around 11 AM. I had about 7 hours until they officially noticed I was missing.

I nodded. 'That will do.'


	29. Part III - Chapter VII: En Route

**En Route**

He laughed, keeping me out of the joke.

"What?" I inquired intrigued.

He then remembered my presence and leaned forward to show me the two graphics he'd been staring at with so much amusement.

"This graphic here shows your reasoning aptitudes. You've scored 100% in the abstract, mathematical, spatial, verbal and mechanical reasonings, and, since you got one wrong, only 93% in the numerical one (the one where you worked with number series)..." He smiled to himself "It is clear by just looking at these numbers that you're brilliant, but..." Of course there'd be a 'but' "Take a look at this other graphic I've got here." He lifted the one on his right hand "It shows your learning strategies and studying habits, taking into consideration items such as motivation, attitude, time administration, attention..." He pointed them with his index as he went and chuckled "Almost every single one of these items are under the normal scale... Maybe except for this one here." He pointed at the third item, 'ANX', that was at least thirty per cent over the normal range "This one shows how well you can cope with pressure and anxiety, and as you can see, it's exceptionally good." He smiled again "So basically, what I read from looking at these graphics is that you're very smart, and that even though you do terrible at school, it does not seem to bother you in the slightest."

I tilted my head.

"It doesn't."  
"You don't find it very interesting, do you?"

I thought about it. It wasn't as simple as that. It _was_ interesting. To some extent. If we would only not advance so damn slowly...

I shrugged. Yeah, whatever. Let him have it.

"And what is your opinion on this? You have every potential to be the stereotypical prodigy student, and yet you come home with such low marks..."

I shrugged again.

"They can't make me care."

He laughed out loud.

"What do Sofía and Ricardo say about your school marks?"

I looked down. They said nothing.

"Nothing."  
"Nothing?"  
"No."

He nodded and then sighed.

"If I could only find a place for you..." He sounded distant. I got the feeling he wasn't talking directly to me.  
"A place for me?"

He shook his head.

"Nevermind. How's the friend making..?"

* * *

"Sophia..!"

I jumped immediately, fearful. Hyperventilation.

"Sophie, Sophie, it's me, Cherryl..!" A woman was whispering nervously.

I was in a plane.  
It all came back.  
Ah. I was in the plane. My heart started to slow down.

I turned to the woman that had woken me up and was glad to recognize her. It was my personal Jackie Brown, serving me a glass of water.

"Here, have a drink..." She look concerned.

I drank it immediately, which was a bit imprudent: I ended up coughing like there was no God and no tomorrow.

Smooth, A.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

'Hm? Oh, no, I just thought you were going to kill me. But don't worry, this always happens.'

I nodded, trying to put my throat under control.

"Thanks." I returned the emptied glass.

I hadn't noticed it when I fell asleep. The flight from Southampton to Paris was about 1 hour 20 minutes long, so I couldn't have been out for too long either. I figured the whole jumping off a bridge at dawn thing had been more exhausting than I'd expected.

"In a few moments the captain will announce that we will reach our destination. I suggest you change now before everybody starts to get up to grab their things and it gets complicated..." She pulled a bag from under the food cart and handed it to me. It was my uniform. Hell, she'd even gotten me shoes and the airline pin and all.

I looked up at her, coming back from my thoughts.

"Ah, yes. Thank you."

She smiled politely and I got up to get changed, taking my newly acquired handbag with me to the toilette. I put my civilian clothes in it and got inside the air hostess uniform.

'This shall do.' I thought as I put on the funny hat. I still couldn't get used to being a brunette, though.  
I put on the shoes. The heels weren't too high, but I wasn't really used to walking in them.

I got out and went to sit by Cherryl, who was leaning against the wall by the coffee machine.

Bribing her had been twenty-three times easier than I could have ever imagined, but once you took a look at her job, it wasn't too hard to figure out why. Being a flight attendant was damn harder than it looked.

She sighed, obviously exhausted, and smiled at me to acknowledge my presence. She looked pale and sweaty, and had two eyebags hidden with a base that had been applied disproportionately, possibly in a rush. She was probably about to get sick, and yet she could still smile. I smiled back compassionately, not feeling envious of all the crap she'd been taking from the passengers in the past hour. Or in the past years.

"Are you sure they won't stop me?" I asked half nervously. I didn't really distrust the plan, I just wanted to make some conversation. It felt strange not to know anything about Cherryl, more than she'd use the money to put their kids through college when they grew up. And that she was a smoker. And left handed. And around 44 years old. And also that she was either divorced or widowed, and had two kids.

Well, maybe I knew a few other things too, but I kinda liked her.

She nodded confidently.

"If anything goes wrong, you're new and you didn't know. I'll be there to back it up."

In the background you could hear the captain announce in broken English that'd we'd be arriving the Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport soon. He repeated the statement in French, only it was less audible. The passengers were moving all around the plane, grabbing their belongings, making their way to the toilettes, asking the flight attendants they encountered for a last drink.

"Isn't the seat belt sign on..?" I wondered out loud.

I turned to see Cherryl nod sadly.

"Yes. Yes it is."

After we finally got off the plane, we passed through security without any problems. Everything went smoothly. I said goodbye to Cherryl at the gate and wished her good luck.

I kept on walking until I found a screen where to check the time. It was 1.30 PM, which meant it was 12.30 PM back in the U.K. If they hadn't figured I'd left by then, they'd know soon enough. My lips curved worried.

After getting some money exchanged, I figured the sooner I left the airport the better: too many cameras made me feel uncomfortable. Maybe I was overestimating L's ability to find me, but I didn't want to make the same mistakes the criminals I'd chased after had done.

...Oh.

While we're at it, I might as well mention that bribing Cherryl was not the only crime I'd committed in the past 10 hours. Yes, I'd left the Wammy's House with some money, but you didn't really think I'd left with a briefcase with a million pounds inside it, did you? I'm not exactly proud of it, but I did have to take some drastic measures. I hoped L wouldn't notice. At least not too soon.

"He's already noticed." I murmured nervously to myself, holding my arm up to get a taxi's attention "No, shut up. He hasn't. " I counter-argumented defiantly.

That was, however, no reason to stop acting like L (or anybody) wasn't trailing after me, even if he really wasn't. If I'd been looking for myself, I would have probably been able to find me. I shrugged. Maybe not so easily, though. Even if they thought I'd survived, after having landed on Paris it would be highly unlikely that they could trace me at all.

I nodded. Yeah, highly unlikely.

A cab stopped and opened the door for me from inside. The car was impregnated with the scent of cigarettes.

"Bonjour, a 21 Rue du Louvre, s'il vous plait."

If I'd done my research right, the adress was that of a cheap hotel's.

"Alors en route." He started the car.

I opened my handbag and took out something I'd been waiting to open for a long time.  
I opened the files and stared at a blurry picture, smiling.

"Hello, Wedy."

* * *

_Thanks a lot to the ones who've either favourited or are following the story ^^ It really keeps me motivated :) (just as reviews :P )_

_By the way, back when I started the story I was on vacation. I've started school again so the updates might take a while longer than usually. I'll try to do it as often as possible though. (Besides, I'm a big time procrastinator, so yup). Cheers xx_

_sicilia_


	30. Part III - Chapter VIII: Rebirth

**Rebirth**

I slept for 24 hours and woke up on December 24th 2000, to my surprise, still feeling unmeasurably tired. I could see the snow fall through the curtains, there was still light.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, stroking the bedcovers peacefully. The first wasn't interesting in the least, and the latter were rather raspy and probably needed washing. Or incinerating.

Without transition, the moment's calamity was lost immediately as I started to cry, only this time I didn't make an effort to stop myself or to keep it quiet in case anybody overheard. I was alone. I was kilometers away. I was dead. I figured that if there'd ever be a good moment to decompress my feelings, that was probably it. So for a few minutes, I was openly honest with myself.

After I decided that I'd had enough, I stood up and took a quick shower to wash off all the weakling germs. When I was done, I dressed back into the flight attendant uniform that I'd thrown over my bedroom's floor a day ago (despite there being a perfectly useful wardrobe with hangers). Leaving the scarf, hat and pin aside made it seem like a normal outfit altogether. I guessed I'd use that until I'd found myself some clothes.

I went down to the hotel's restaurant to have breakfast. It was around 5 PM, so that breakfast ought to be a real celebration of life. I ordered two cups of coffee, a glass of warm orange juice (I know, right? It's a thing), a piece of cheesecake and two croissants. Yeah, shut up. Some girls stay home watching and re-watching Titanic accompanied with dangerous amounts of ice cream, some others like to pretend they've committed suicide and fly off to Paris.

I sighed, sticking my fork in my piece of cheesecake.

I'd left to find B before it was too late. But that was obviously more complicated than it sounded.  
If I wanted to stop playing the fool, to begin with, I had to assume that B had stabbed the man who'd hit me with his car to death. More like, he was my prime suspect. One never wants to jump into conclusions so recklessly.

I gulped and took a bite of one of my croissants to ease my neurons.

There wasn't a better, more obvious explanation so far. I had noticed his behavior change considerably, even though I would have never figured he'd been able to ki... Well. Just because I had never thought of it, it didn't mean it hadn't there for me to see. We were really close (to put it in non-corny terms, I loved him very much). The idea that he was just going through a rough patch was far more appealing than having him fade from me, thus making me fall prey to sweet oblivion. Now we see why ignorance isn't exactly a bliss. Anyway. In that sense, his psychological development had been to worry for. So that's a strike.

Specially in the last days, he'd looked particularly concerned, and even fled the Wammy's House under the strange promise of returning after a week. After that, all I knew was that I woke up one morning in a hospital feeling like P. Diddy. My face was a mess, my foot was torn up pretty badly, but on top of all that, my brain was defectuous. That is, not only did I process information significantly slower, I also couldn't remember (possibly) the most important part of the whole incident. I know. I had one job.  
I did learn a few things, however. First, I'd learnt that I'd got hit by a car, and that then someone had stabbed the driver, never to be found.

B was smart, supposedly crazy and a close friend of mine. While it was still too odd, we could say that he had a motive. Maybe he witnessed the accident and went crazy angry and stabbed the driver in one of his anger fits. Why he'd have a knife in the first place, I wouldn't know. As for concrete, non-speculative reasons, that was still to be investigated. I figured I'd only get an answer by asking him in person, if he turned out to be the actual killer.

There was also my dreams and my irrational fears, but that wasn't exactly useful or objective at all, so I put it aside for the meantime. Interpretations could vary.

However, the second very important thing that I'd learnt, was that nobody wanted to tell me anything about what had happened. Why?

There are many variables as to 'Why?'. The first one being that I was a suspect myself.

Of course I was. And with L trailing after B, it had probably even been his idea to keep me uninformed. Had I been in his place, I would have probably done the same to him.

I nodded, chuckling to myself. It wasn't exactly in amusement. It was the dark pleasure of fitting pieces logically, regardless of which puzzle was being put together.

Of course I wasn't actually a suspect of killing the driver. That was clearly out of my anatomical possibilities, given that I was bleeding my head off in some street. But as I've stated previously, I was very close to B. And not only, I'd also hidden his conduct and covered for him in multiple occasions. As far as they were concerned, there was no way of telling which of those rage-related incidents he was guilty of and of which ones not. Maybe I was a whacko too. Maybe I was an accomplice. Maybe my amnesia episode was fake.

I sighed. If I only knew how or why I'd gotten outside in the first place...

Anyway. That aside, they also couldn't have known how I would have reacted if I'd learnt that my best friend had killed someone. What if I went after him? (Like I was doing) What if I did something really really stupid? (Check) What if I went nuts? Or hurt myself? Or hurt anybody? Could I be trusted? Specially when I'd been known to pull exaggerate tantrums when I got upset about something. Or someone.

I smiled. Roger's credit card wouldn't be missing me.

While all that wasn't at a psychopathic killer level, maybe I could see how I could occasionally be confused for a tiny whiny sociopathic monkey.

I exhaled. But I'm lovely.

Either way, giving me any information about B was a no-no. Specially, because if I went after him, there was a chance that I could have ended up dead myself.

I shivered at the memory of my nightmares.

'This is B I'm talking about...' I reminded myself.

I pushed feelings aside. I'd cried about it already.

But you see, as far as I was concerned, I thought that going after B myself was the only thing I could do. I had to try to stop him. I had to beg him. I had to take him back home, whatever the cost. Who else if not me? Nobody knew him like I did. And I did have my big share of responsibility for all that had happened in the first place.

I curved my lips awkwardly.

No. No guilt now. It's useless. Moving on.

As unlikely as he was, L was a suspect himself. So why stay at home and have him solve everything?

As Rand once well put it, "an error made on your own is safer than ten truths accepted on faith, because the first leaves you the means to correct it, but the second destroys your capacity to distinguish truth from error."

Of course that in the back of my head I didn't believe that, but the percentage was present. Besides, I had no record of what he'd done while he'd come to visit...

...Had I ruined his return home?

'Quit it.'

He was in control of what information I received or not, which is reasonable enough to put him as a suspect. I wasn't exactly worried about him in that sense, however.

So you see, dying was pretty damn useful for this situation. If I left, I'd be trailed after. But if I was dead, given that they bought my illusion, I'd be able to move around more freely, without having to worry about any Ls or Sherlocks or 007s coming after me.

And even if they eventually did find that I wasn't dead, to start tracking me from the beginning would have been a mighty nuisance and most likely a simple waste of time.

While I didn't kill (or plan to kill) anybody, the situation required it that I stole money and bribed a flight attendant. And the way my plan seemed to be progressing, it wasn't the last mischief I'd be pulling out.

'It's the only way to move around, really.' I looked down. I hadn't wanted to turn to a life of crime nor justify it.

But I cheered myself up. I was sure that if everything went out alright, things could be worked out. I hoped.

Watari would forgive me, right?

And I could work to re-pay the money I'd cost. And double it.  
I smiled. Yup.

When I looked up again, it had already gone dark. I searched the room for a clock and learned that it was almost 8 PM.

'I've been here for three hours?' I got up and put my coat on to leave 'Oh, no. I don't want to be late.'


	31. Part III - Chapter IX: Bah! Humbug!

**"Bah! Humbug!"**

I went up the stairs concentrating on nothing but the fact that first it was "Heel..." and then it was "...Toe...".

"Heel, toe, heel, toe, heel, ouch, watch it. Nobody saw that. Careful with the trail... And heel, toe..."

I reached the last floor and took a deep breath, proud that I hadn't destroyed anything. That included my neck.

I put on an inviting smile and walked on.

"Une boisson, les gars?" I greeted approaching them confidently.

They looked at each other smiling and accepted the drinks I'd offered them. I took one for myself and we clinked our glasses.

"C'est Noël, après tout, pas vrai?"

I'll save you the trouble: '_It's Christmas after all, right_?'

"Oui." The one on my left agreed smilingly.  
"Merci, mademoiselle." The second one nodded.  
"De rien!" I smiled.

We drank up. And sighing, I looked at them sincerely and apologized.

"Hm?"  
" '_Pardon?_' Pourquoi?" '_Sorry?_ Why?' he asked disconcerted, but not half as worried as he should have been.

Oh. You just wait.

Before I could mutter an answer, they had started to understand by themselves. They turned to me, aghast.

I nodded. Yes. Yes, I've drugged you.

They fell down to the floor and I carefully placed the trail next to them and the almost emptied bottle in the hand of one of them. Some of the remaining content of the bottle spilled down to the floor, but I thought it was a nice touch. I held my own glass and waited.

I grinned thankfully.

"She's already in."

If she hadn't been on the building, then I would have been immediately restrained. She always liked changing the tapes on the cameras to pass unnoticed. I used that for my own benefit too, since, you know, it kinda saved a lot of time on the planning side. Pretty much all I had needed to do was bribe a second person. This time it being a member of the kitchen staff.

I walked over their bodies carefully watching out not to step on them, and walked inside the room where the Regent Diamond was kept safe. I brought my glass with me as not to leave evidence behind.

It was dark, but the jewels were lighted with spotlights nonetheless, as if to have their beauty highlighted at all times, regardless of there being anybody or not in the room to enjoy the sight. Their beauty didn't just exist for _our_ sake.

I walked towards the most beloved stone in the room it and stared at it, amazed.

That diamond had seen it all. Louis XV had used it in his coronation in 1722, and then his grandson had used it in his coronation crown too, to then also come to adorn one of the hats of latter's wife, Marie Antoinette.

I smiled, pressing my hand against the glass. I'd read so much about all of them.

'No wonder she wants it.'

I realized again that no alarms were ringing off.

She'd come to take it and leave in no longer than 20 minutes. After the tiny Poland incident, she was no longer a time wasting fan.

I backed off from it and went up the stairs, leaning out of a rail to watch the room from above. I'd wait.

13 minutes into my wait, the nervous melody I'd been humming to myself met an abrupt end. The tinkling of my nails over my glass' surface ceased too: I had heard a door open. And it was not the one I'd walked through.

Steps.  
Not fearful steps, confident steps. Mischievous steps. Proud steps. They carried a very an expensive perfume's aroma as they went. She trusted her plan thoroughly, worrying was obviously out of the question.

The attitude made me grin, but inside, my heart was pumping out so loud I feared she'd notice me before I'd intended to be noticed.

It was all so very unreal.

I remembered I had even gone down on my knees in front of Roger, begging that he gave the case to me, not L. I'd follow him everywhere, kissing the floor he'd walk on, correcting his pupil's tests, washing his windows, his car, watering his plants... Wherever he went, I'd be there, waving and smiling radiantly, ready to offer him a coffee or a homemade pie...

Okay, fine. A cake I had bought with his own credit card, but it showed I care, right?

...So what if it was behind his back?

He eventually _did_ give the case to L, but the latter found it uninteresting and Roger ended up having to give it up to me anyway.

The way I stared at Roger at that moment was a formal way of sticking my tongue out at him. I took it from his hands and ran off before L regretted his decision. No way, suckers.

'I'm like L's dog.' I thought running up the stairs. But I shrugged it off. That leftover was rather cool. And I had been jumping and running after sticks the whole week for it, after all. Was that some kind of treat for behaving myself? If that was the case, I could also sit and play dead... No pwn intended.

I started studying her case immediately, gathering information online, reading articles and exchanging e-mails with museums, newspapers, anybody. I'd read forums about her, and would sometimes even go as far as to participate in them (it may or may not have been to argue with strangers).

To me, cases were like books. No. More like comic books, only mostly no pictures were available, but my brain took care of that part. It was all about a story. About a hero, or in this case, an anti-hero.  
Like any kinds of stories, some were dull, some lacked creativity or originality, some you solved by reading the title. Pretty much like picking up the novel "John dies at the end", only with more spoilers.

But Wedy... She was just hilariously talented. So much I forgave her '_career_'. I kept her on the run for my own amusement, as if waiting for the next episode to come out. I know it's completely unethical, but with the things I'd seen, I could care less about a few snobs going nuts around the world. That was possibly one of the reasons L had dismissed the case too, I thought.

I was detective-fangirling over her heists. I knew my favourite of her strikes by heart, and knew too, without a second thought that she'd be there, in that very room, that very night. But waiting for her in that room had been as ordinary as it would have been for me to have been waiting for Batman to show up.

It was the closest thing I'd had to a childhood hero. _It was_ _Wedy_.

SHEESH, _get excited_!

Wedy walked right towards the stone and took out some tiny form of plastic container out of her pants' right pocket.

Very, very carefully, she unscrewed its cap and poured the content over the glass protecting the diamond.

'Omfshit.' I fangasmed 'She's brilliant!' I covered my mouth, fighting the impulse to jump up and down.

The glass had started to melt. Which is usually what happens to glass when it comes in contact with Hydrofluoric acid. Or pretty much anything that ever comes in contact with Hydrofluoric acid. Funny enough, that last statement doesn't apply to some plastics, such as polyethylene: it can't go through it. Hence the plastic container.

I wondered whether Watari's secret evil twin had founded an orphanage for criminal masterminds.

"Hello, Scrooge." I finally greeted from above, abandoning all desire to remain in the shadows. The shadows are boring.

I was pleased with the performance. I had to admit I'd been a bit worried, you know... The whole "never meet your heroes" thingy. I didn't want to be disappointed.

Wedy jumped, almost losing her balance. Two swift blinks later, I had a gun pointed at my face.  
Seriously. What was it with me and death?

"Who are you?" She asked deeply disconcerted, the voice tone seemingly calm, nonetheless. She looked around to check if there was anybody else with me. There wasn't.

I thought about my reply for a moment.

"A ghost." I smiled sadly.

She exhaled defiantly.

"The ghost of Christmas Present?" A threatening, but slightly amused grin.

I chuckled.

"No..." I lifted my gaze "More like the ghost of Christmas Yet to Come."

She stared at me with interest and turned in a way that it was possible for her to grab the object of her desire while still keeping the gun aimed at me.

"Who do you work for?"

She wasn't a killer, so I wasn't really scared for my life. On second thoughts, shooting at me didn't necessarily mean_ killing_ me. If I didn't make a good case, I could have easily earned myself an innocent bullet to the leg, which on one side would have added to my series of unfortunate events' collection, but on the other, would have also made an excellent story to tell my potential cellmates.

I shook my head.

"Don't be silly, miss Wedy. Ghosts don't work. Ghosts haunt."

She grinned.

"Fair enough. What is it you're haunting me for then? if I may ask." She put the Regent inside a box of cigarettes and returned the latter to her pocket.

Louis XVI's coronation crown, Marie Antoinette's hat, Napoleon's sword, Wedy's cigarette box. See what I tell you? The stone had seen it all.

I sat down, hanging my legs through the railings.

"I'm in need of a favor." I confessed after patient consideration.

She stared at me and then exhaled.

"Sorry kid, they don't make those in my size."

I watched her calmly as she rushed to the door she'd come through.

"Oh?" I scratched the back of my hair "Well, I certainly hadn't expected _that_..."

She tried to open it but it wouldn't budge. Not seeming to understand the nature of this, she pushed the door harder, but it still didn't open.

She went back to the door's padded keyboard and entered a password. An angry "_beep-beep_" sound denied her access.

She ran to the other side and tried the door I'd gone through. Same ritual.

"...I mean, you know, since you seem to be in need of one too." I finished my sentence.

Her movements stopped slowly, leaving the door in peace. The air was tense. I could hear her fight the impulse not to shoot me for the hell of it.

She sighed, annoyed. It was not the laid back and cool Wedy I'd seen a few moments ago. Like any other cat, the carburglar's anxiety levels seemed to be rising with every second that she continued to find herself caged.

After trying her luck at the padded keyboard, she found herself pointing her gun at it.

"You're Wedy." I smiled "You know better."

She turned and pointed the gun at me. Okay, let's not overstep the mark here.

I couldn't really see the look in her eyes because she was wearing sunglasses, (yes, indoors and at night. Cool people are allowed to do that), but I was kinda grateful for them. I really did not want to know what that furious gaze must have looked like.

"Shooting at me would be as much as useless, miss Wedy." I finally stood up and started heading downstairs.

I approached her seemingly nonchalantly, but I was actually quite nervous.  
I bowed courteously and apologetically.

"I am A." I extended my hand.

She found no better option than to co-operate and shook my hand in response.

I heard fireworks outside. It was officially December 25th.


	32. Part III - Chapter X: Modulus of A

**Modulus of A**

"Absolutely no more bribing." She hit the tip to let some ash fall in the ashtray, and returned the cigarette to her mouth. She breathed in peacefully, almost forgetting I was even there.

She exhaled, adding to the room's strange scent that mixed cigarettes and perfume. It was quite particular, but not unpleasant.

"It's gotten me to where I am, hasn't it?" I asked trying not to sound too defiant of my new predilect authority.

She shook her head.

"Well, yes... But it won't get you much further." She smoked another short puff, now leaning forward as to explain "If you want to pass unnoticed, the first thing you have to make sure of, is to pass unnoticed."

I nodded smilingly, but found it necessary to mention:

"But say... You didn't pass _too_ unnoticed to me." I played with my hands.

Wedy smiled slightly, not taking offense for my comment.

"You don't count." She rested the cigarette over the crystal ashtray.

"I don't?"

"No." She searched for words "Besides, I may not have passed unnoticed to you in the sense that you knew where I'd be. _How_ exactly, I don't know..."

I opened my mouth to explain but she went on. Oddly, it gave me the impression that she found my explanations went on forever and made no difference. I dwelled on that thought. I hadn't had that feeling happen to me for a very, very long time.

"But you see, there wasn't anybody else but you there. The police wasn't there, the press wasn't there, nobody was there... Only your little ghost self." She considered her words again "Well, except for those guards at the end, but that was more your fault than mine..."

My side smile widened. True.

"...But can you tell where I'd been before that? How I came to the city? Do you know where I've been when I wasn't in between jobs?" She challenged confidently.

I thought of it hardly. I already knew that I didn't, but it bothered me so much, that I chose not to believe that. I always knew. That's what I did. I knew things. If I didn't know, I was nothing special.

My complexions started to look vexed.

She laughed and I looked up, upset and troubled. She was smiling at me proudly, her bluey-green eyes were sparkling. They were pretty much saying what she said next:

"I know you don't. But this is what I do, after all." She picked back her cigarette from the ashtray, but saw that it was about to go off. She took out a box and, before lighting another, offered one to me.

I thought about it.

"No, thanks."

She lit the new cigarette and went on.

"Trust me, I'm as much upset that you found me, as you are at the fact that you don't know where I am when I don't want to be found."

I nodded. An eye for an eye.

"So no more bribing." I resumed.

"No. Only trust yourself. You can't keep track of everybody and, besides, once you've given those people the money, what stops them from talking to the police anyway?"

"Maybe the fact that they received stolen money to help someone do illegal stuff?"

She saw my point but reiterated.

"You'd be surprised. Don't rely on anybody but yourself. Bribing someone is only for the most ultimate of emergencies, and it's more of a short-term solution. If you want to be invisible, you have to start thinking long-term."

I added that to my stack of mental notes.

* * *

I understood systems, patterns. That was the reason why catching sight of Wedy while working (regardless of how rare her appearances were), was easier to me than it would have ever been to catch sight of her when doing something else. But even for the most spontaneous and unpredictable of people, some bits of planning are required. That is, some bit of predictability.

For her heists, Wedy had everything under a perfect, almost even obsessive control: cameras, guards, costumes (if actually necessary), you name it. Understanding that represented no problem for me, which is why if I'd intended to have her arrested, she would have been caught long ago. The real mystery to me, was knowing where she'd disappear to after her job had been completed. When I read crime files, I wasn't really after the criminal more than I was after his (or her) mystery. Wedy's mystery was that: her invisibility. So her case wasn't closed just by catching her.

I figured that disappearing like that was the kind of skills taught at the anti-Wammy's House, so if I wanted to learn that, non of my abilities on Earth would have sufficed: I'd have to ask a criminal. And what best than the best?

This was precisely why I didn't trust L to find B, unless the latter intended to commit a crime or do some other spectacular kind of appearance of his own out there, which I doubted, at least for a while. I didn't exactly want to rely on whiles while B was missing around. I wanted to find him and bring some sense into him... L just wanted to find him. Which meant that L was probably waiting for something bad to happen, as it seemed to be the only scenario possible where B would appear.

If I wanted to get there first and find him before real madness ensued, I could not take the liberty of waiting like L was, I had to find him mid-hiding or mid-running. Unluckily, I was too inexpert in that area, as I was used to investigating events, not non-events. My sole existence was based on the fact that you can't prove a negative. Well, I'd just have to go and try.

So I went after Wedy, and unlike many others, I successfully found her. Even if I hadn't really gotten her into trouble, simply knowing that I'd figured out a way to find her, was a problem in itself. The event counted as a defeat, which is what detectives are supposed to do: defeat criminals. And defeating criminals is pretty much exactly the kind of thing you're trained for at the Wammy's House. Non of her abilities would have sufficed for her to beat us: she'd have to ask a detective, but what kind of detective would ever want to help out a criminal? Maybe not the best, but the second best had showed up willingly.

The night of the Regent Diamond incident, I'd pretty much blown up Wedy's second half of the plan and got her stuck in a room with me. I admit that I was being a bit of a melodramatic teenager (hello), but as Sherlock well put it, the frailty of genius is that it always needs an audience. But in matter of minutes, suddenly her every chance and hope to ever escape turned to be in my hands. That way, she noticed how much of a danger I was to her. Or, on the other hand, how much of an ally I could be, since as promised, as simple as I 'd gotten her caged with me, I'd also gotten her outside the Louvre safely. After my demonstration I gave her the phone number of the hotel I was staying at and set her loose. I know how that could seem like a complete waste of time and effort, given that I had no palpable guarantee that she'd be calling me. But she would. After being owned like that, she had to know what I'd wanted.

Instead of calling the hotel, she showed up in my bedroom on a morning that I'd returned from sightseeing (yes, sightseeing). I greeted her before I even saw her. It was the smell of cigarettes that gave her away.

By the way that she looked around, I noticed that she wasn't exactly used to staying at rooms as precarious and small as mine. She carried the very same expression I'd carried myself for the first few days after being used to living in the Wammy's House for so long, but I got over the culture shock quite fast. Maybe I didn't want to live up to the 'Princess' name.

I told Wedy (as much as she needed to know) of my purpose in contacting her. I needed to learn from her, both as much as to remain hidden myself as to be able to simultaneously find my friend.

After listening, she got up and walked to the door. Before leaving, she asked that I left the hotel I was staying at and checked in at the Kentwood Hotel. She'd be calling me with an answer there.

I can't say I loved the idea. After all, the Kentwood was expensive and noticeable: the two last things I was trying to avoid. But she insisted and I was left with no more choice than to give in.

But it did not just stop at checking in at the Kentwood. She handed me a list of instructions, among which were: the name I was supposed to give, the kind of clothes I was supposed to buy, the kind of comments I was supposed to make, how much luggage I was supposed to show up with and I last but not least, I was also to wear a blonde wig at all times.

"Victoria Kentwood?" I asked not buying into it one bit. Did she expect me to go there and pretend I was the daughter of the owner or something? Nobody would be dull enough to buy that.

She quietly replied that if I did not want to do that, I did not have to. Which meant I either did that or there was no deal, so, grudgingly, I obeyed.

The next day I was too shocked to find that it had all worked. I was, however, not mistaken for the daughter of the owner, but for his niece.

The moment I showed up, I meant to walk towards the counter and get a room, but I was stopped before I could even get a chance to do so.

"Miss Kentwood!" A strange accent called from behind.

'I am so dead.'

I turned.

"You don't have to go there, we'll take care of everything." A call-boy explained.

I put on a convincing smile.

"Thanks. Is Merrie here yet?" I asked as if I knew what I was talking about.

The man shook his head.

"No, but I hear she'll be around next week." He took my bags and carried them as we walked.

'Well, shit.' I didn't want no Merrie looking for me to find that, 'Hey, you're not Vicky.'

The man said no more and showed me to my room. And by room I mean villa.

'Great.' Now not only L would be after me, but also the whole hotel's mafia would be more than willing to collaborate. L was probably the last of my concerns right then.

Days passed and no calls or signs of Wedy. I was starting to grow impatient. Two weeks into my waiting, while contemplating leaving, a knock on the door incremented my anxiety. I put on my wig as fast as I could.

"Y-Yes..?" I asked, clearing my throat nervously.

"Vicky, is that you?"

'Fffffffffffuuuuuu...'

"M-Merrie?" The horror.

'You wanna die for real? _Shut up_.'

I heard a chuckle on the other side of the door.

"Come on now, let me in before I die here, Vics. You don't want your cousin to turn into a _ghost_, do you?"

A ghost.

Jesus, Wedy. Just Jesus.

I opened the door on the verge of a heart-attack and indeed, it was Wedy standing in front of me.

She was smiling radiantly at the way my face's horror tried to express how unfunny I'd found that. She helped herself in and I closed the door behind her. I took off the wig.

"I take it you've accepted my proposal." I sat down on the couch in front of hers, trying to breathe normally again.

She nodded.

"I think this duplicity thing could work out... It's a win-win, after all." She went on to light a cigarette.

There was a pause in which I heard her fight against her lighter. She gave up and took out a matchbox out of her pants' pocket.

"However..?" I encouraged watching her patience at work.

"However," It finally lit "...It will have to be under my conditions. If I tell you to bark, you'll bark, you understand?"

I looked doubtful and crossed my arms.

"Don't worry. I won't be asking you to take part of my job or kill old ladies for me." She 'soothed' me, moving her hands around "What I mean to say, is that as you're well aware, having you here represents quite a risk to me. From what I gather, both of us know that the idea of trusting someone's honor is reckless. So we'll need rules."

Okay... I was agreeing.

"I won't teach you what _I_ do. I won't show you what it is that I do to disappear..." She started off.

What? That was like the whole idea that got me to find her in the first place.

"If I do, you'll be able to find me, and no benefit you could offer me is worth giving up my secret. I'd rather retire and that way you'd never find me anyway."

I stared at her while she talked. I was listening.

"I will however, correct what it is you've been doing, and teach you many a thing you'll find more than useful and enough to satisfy your purposes. If you don't think this is good enough, then there is nothing else I am willing to offer you."

I said nothing, I was alright with what she was saying.

"That said, there are no guarantees, but you have to promise that you won't come looking after me once we part ways."

I cleared my throat.

"I promise."

Worst case scenario, she'd be L's problem.

"You can't leave this hotel without informing me." She added "And when you _do_ leave, you'll have to follow my instructions as how to leave, how to wander around, and how to return. I have to trust that whatever you do you won't be putting us in danger."

I frowned, wondering.

"I think I can handle that."

"I don't know if there's anything you want to add to this." She asked me.

I thought about it.

"Not for the moment... More than remind you of the fact that your anonimity is as much as important to you as mine is to myself. Whatever you do, I want to be informed as well. I don't want you putting us in danger either."

She smiled.

"I think we have a clear understanding." She extended her hand.

I smiled and shook it, but as I did, a memory immediately struck my head. My mind immediately flew back to the day where I'd officially become A.

I remembered being upset about the change of names. I remembered L had come down to my room to fool around (not in that sense, you perv).

"_I believe you. But I also believe I would have solved it faster than you._" I'd teased him about his case. I didn't even know I'd be solving cases soon enough as well.

And then he looked up at me again, slowly, intensely. I remembered because it had cause a strange sensation, making me slightly uneasy, but I couldn't point out why.

"_I look forward to it... A_."

I exhaled, snapping back out of my memories.

Wedy had left.

"Well..." I thought out loud "I suppose you have to be careful what you ask for."

* * *

_Hey guys! How are you liking the story? I'm sorry if it seems to be advancing slowly or something. I hope you don't mind it too much, but this all was necessary, I guess._

_Anyway. If anybody is willing to leave a review, it'd be more than awesome, but I'll leave that to you. Thanks for reading ^^_


	33. Part III - Final Chapter: Victoria's

**Victoria's Secret**

_Surprise, surprise_

* * *

"What! You knew about Belgium?"

I nodded.

"W-Why didn't you stop me..?"

I shrugged. I was a bit too shy to explain why.

"What about Poland?" She lowered her sunglasses so that our eyes would meet.

I smirked at that one.

"_Specially_ Poland. You became more fast-paced after that." You're welcome.  
"You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

Ah? That surprised me. She was faster than I'd thought. _Or_ more paranoid.

I avoided a smile, thinking that by now, she just probably knew me well enough.

Hiding any hint from my face, I stared into her eyes coolly and shook my head, leading my eyes back to the table and my thumb back to my mouth.

But in reality, I may have had (note: remove the 'may have'). I'd been stuck on her case for months, it would not have been believable that I hadn't done any bit of progress with it. However, it happened that I'd delivered my discoveries a few minutes too late, so even when the police arrived the scene, I'd given her time enough to plan an alternative escape successfully. I was kinda staining my second-best reputation in the process for the kicks.

By the look on her face, I could tell she didn't believe me.  
Hah. Yup. She just knew me well.

So maybe I liked experimenting from time to time. Maybe I wanted to see how she responded to pressure. After all, I didn't want it to become boring, so I thought a little action might have spiced things up. She was lucky I even gave her time when I wasn't even supposed to be giving her freedom. Ever played Sims and burnt down the house to see if your Sims got saved? Well, same thing only less sinister. Or more. Whatever. If it helps, I wanted her to win.

"You're a bit creepy..." She took the cigarette back to her mouth and returned her sunglasses back to their original position.

Creepy? I'd been called a lot of things but I'd never thought of myself as creepy.  
I pondered on it, scratching the tiny scar across my eyebrow.

"Hm. Yes. Maybe I am a bit of a creeper when you think about it." I smiled at the idea. I liked creepy better than princess, to be honest, but one thing didn't change the other.

She shook her head, as if not believing me.

"So this guy... B..." She started again after a pause.

She was rather talkative today. And yesterday too.

"Hm?" I mumbled as to signal attention, but had my eyes focused on the map. Did she want the job done or not?

"He must be very important to you."

I frowned slightly at the intrusion.  
Well, obviously. What was she on about?

"Oh- I suppose so." I answered, discarding the topic. "Ah!" I suddenly lit up again. I smiled radiantly and turned to her proudly "This way...!" I pointed at the map with my index "I think..." I started second-guessing myself, my index lost its speed.

She blew smoke out of her mouth.

"You've already tried that route."

I sighed.

Fucking forget it! I should just dedicate my life to detectiving. The whole criminal career wasn't working out.

I lifted my spirits again. I hadn't been given a puzzle so much fun in a long time. Probably because that was not the kind of puzzles the Wammy's House intended us to solve.

'Well, they should have.'

"So what if these two guys see me? I could fight them."

She gave me a cold look through her sunglasses.

"_Strategically_." I clarified.

I watched her take the map and roll it very patiently. When she was done with her work, she contemplated it for a second and then used it to hit me over the head.

"No."

I scratched my head and abstained from asking 'why not?', fearing to get hit again.

"You want to be invisible, and by doing that you're stamping on the whole concept."

I rested my chin over my hand as I watched her lay the map on the table again, sighing like never before. If I can't solve it, it's because there is no solution.

The task was simple: enter into a house (and by house I mean mansion), steal a necklace, walk out through the entrance. I had to find the one route that allowed me to do this, taking guards, staff and camera angles into consideration. As a logical exercise, of course. I wasn't actually going to get in the house and steal anything. Besides, that would have been the easy part.

"Do you have any cake?" I had the first good idea of the hour.  
"Huh?"  
"Cake. I think better when I'm eating one."

She stood there staring at me.

"No." She said after a while "Only Khlav Kalash."

She offered me a cigarette.

I looked at the box. I looked at her. I looked at the box. I looked at her.  
She started to withdraw the hand but I quickly slapped it.

"I never said no."

We shared a chuckle, amused. My smile vanished when I remembered whom I'd gotten that from.

I took a cigarette and held it in my hand, staring at it as if it was yet another puzzle.  
'I mean, considering my life expectancy...'

I put it in my mouth and she tried to light it.

"You have to be breathing it in for it to light."

Oh.  
I breathed it in and my first cigarette lit.

"You're supposed to breathe the smoke in too." She kept on instructing.

I did so and, as a consequence, I found myself thinking I'd just set my throat on fire.

"Damn." I reacted "It hurts." I tasted my mouth. Not bad, though.  
"It gets better with the time."

I observed her, taking a few more puffs, and eventually noticed I was starting to get a little dizzy.

"What kind of sorcery...?"

She laughed lively.

"That feel eventually goes too."

I let it rest on an ashtray and held my own head together. It felt as if the world was swinging, but not hard enough for me to fall.

"Your father will kill me." She joked.  
"Don't worry about him, he's dead." I smiled.

There was a pause.

"What?" I asked.  
"N-No, nothing. I'm sorry." Oh. I'd made her uncomfortable.  
"Eh? No, don't worry about it. It's fine, really."

She nodded and we went back to the map-staring contest.

I frowned.  
My father, B...

I pushed that away. Maybe it was just the way normal people conversed and I'd spent too much time away from them. Yes. That made sense.

My thoughts were at peace, which was extremely odd. Normally it'd be like a daycare for ADHD children, with my ideas flashing around, screaming and jumping everywhere, all trying to fit together at the same time, not responding to the command 'wait for your turn to talk.' Now it felt as if they were still present, only that the kindergarten teacher had sneaked a horse sedative inside their milk boxes. I could jump from one thought to the other and they'd wait obediently for their turn, which was wonderful to me. I felt like I could concentrate on things more dedicatedly, maybe at the cost that I was working slower than usual. Either that or I was too absorbed into my work.

And then I saw it. It had been under my nose all the Goddamn time.

"This way." I pointed the route, happily noticing that yes, yes this time I was right.

She didn't reply, so I looked up. She looked puzzled.

"It took me over a week to solve." She was frowning.

I removed my thumb from my mouth. Maybe if the L's successor thing didn't work out, I could become Wedy's successor. I smiled at the idea, but didn't really see it happening.

"When will you teach me the whole 'traveling without being noticed' thing?"

She scoffed.

"Ha! This is just warm-up, Vicka." She said as she rolled the map again, this time to save it and put it away.

She was about to sit down on the table when the phone rang.

"Oh, shoot." She said, running to the other end of the room to get a grip of it before the caller hung up. Curious. That was the exact opposite reaction I'd get when it came to picking up phones. The _exact_ opposite.

She picked up and talked.

"Hello?" Her voice tone had become more lifeless, more professional, more mysterious "Yes, this is her." She paid attention to the talker and I noticed her eyes widen "Oh, one moment please." She turned to me "Vicka, this is an important client."

I understood and set off to my room.

"See you around for dinner." I said before leaving.

With the dizziness fading away, I walked down the aisles, playing with my fake blonde hair. I pressed the elevator button and went a floor down to get back into my room.

The man of the house had just sent me b-b-b-back to da kitchen.  
Thinking about kitchens, I called down to get room service and ordered a lemon pie. A cigarette did not taste half as good as one.

Half-way into my cake, it was my own phone that rang.

"Hum." I observed, but went on eating "Interesting." But not interesting enough for me to get up.  
The phone kept ringing.

"Yeah, good luck with that, buddy." I filled my mouth with cake.

The nuisance ceased and I smiled.  
But of course, it started ringing again.  
Aw Jeez.

"I'm taking a shower!" I lied to an inanimate object.

It kept on ringing.

"I'm out shopping!"

But the phone didn't buy into my shit, so I finally gave up and picked it up, holding it slightly away from my face, as if it was some sort of abominance.

"This better be good."  
"When people call, it's usually because they have a message to give." I was reprimanded.  
"Merrie, you're literally a floor over my head."  
"And I've also got a phone."

I sighed. Merrie 1, Vicka 0.

"Alright. What is it?"

She took a pause to retrace the reasons of her call.

"Oh. I'm gonna have to pass on dinner tonight. I'm going out to meet this client."  
"Hm."  
"Hm what?"  
"Hm, okay."  
"Alright then."  
"Good."  
"I'll see you tomorrow."  
"Okay."  
"Yes."  
"Bye."  
"Bye."

We hung up the phone, I assume simultaneously, and I went back to my cake. More like, I went back to _pinching_ my cake.

I looked for the laptop and started surfing the web, off to google my suicide. There were very few entries, but more than enough. Officially, a boy had jumped off Cobden Bridge and was suspected to be dead. The word 'suspected' was due to the fact that no body had been found, but this was most likely due to the fact that the river had frozen and it was more difficult to look for one. As for the boy's identity, there wasn't a single speculation.

Entries ceased after the first few days after the incident. The Wammy's House had probably gotten involved or even asked the police to tone the matter down. The investigation was theirs, but that didn't say anything too alarming.

"_Boy._" I protested, shaking my head "I've had many things happen to me. But being mistaken for a boy is crossing the line."

I picked up the phone on my side and asked for someone to get me a cup of coffee.

"Black, no sugar?" He remembered.  
"Yes, please."  
"In a second, miss Ketwood."  
"Thanks, Ben."  
He hung up the phone.  
"I think I like being a Kentwood." I smiled.

But it wasn't just about the whole (fabulous) part of pretending to be the rich cousin to the second daughter of the Kentwoods, Merrie Kentwood. It was about pretending that I had a family. I knew it was just an act, but I liked to pretend that it wasn't. I liked to pretend that Wedy was my real cousin, and that I was really visiting her in Paris. I had no certainties that Wedy felt the same way about me, but I also liked to pretend that she did. And sneaking into this imaginary family world wasn't too hard, given that everybody else truly believed that. For a few weeks, I actually _was_ Victoria Kentwood.

I went back to Google's homepage and searched for some older news: the car accident/incident. About that one there was more things said around the press world. And no wonder. It was a case as strange as it could probably get.

I thought it'd be a good time to stay up all night and study the event. I was bound to find something useful. The ways things had been taking place, I'd never really studied the case with more information than the bits I'd deduced out of air. Not like the news were the perfect and unbiased detective wet dream, but the more bits, the merrier.

I heard a knock on the door.  
'Damn, he's fast.'

"Come in!" I shouted from my table. Benny had a key for these sort of things.

He unlocked the door and I called out for him.

"I'm here at the table."  
I heard his steps advance forward carefully in my way.  
He removed some of my pages and put the coffee in the newly cleared space.

"Thanks, Ben." I dropped the pencil and searched my pockets to give him a good tip, not looking up from the screen.  
I felt the cold brush of his fingers as he accepted the money carefully before he set out his way.

"No problem, miss."

When he was gone, I lead the coffee to my mouth and got burnt, which caused me to accidentally drop my mug, making the liquid spill all over my laptop and my scribbled pages.

Instead of rushing to get a piece of cloth and uselessly attempt to stop the chaos, I sat and watched the computer's screen go nuts, catathonically.

"I must have a really pissed off a lot of people in a past life." But then I remembered I wasn't exactly an angel then either, so I took it like a man.

I made an useless attempt to dry my computer by shaking the coffee off, but that just made things worse.

My pages were all soaked and only the useless ones or the ones I'd doodled on had been saved.

"Not even Clouseau had these kind of setbacks."

I sighed. Wedy had a computer of her own, I could use that.

I took the trouble to go upstairs and sneaked inside Wedy's room. I didn't have a key, but she'd taught me a few tricks. You know what that means, right?_ Free rooms_.

I scratched my head wondering where she could be keeping her laptop. I went to her bedroom and started searching her wardrobe. I smiled.

'Yes. Maybe I am a bit of a creeper after all.'

I found the object of my interest and went to sit at the table.  
I'd never seen her enter her password directly, but I'd gathered bits and pieces from standing behind her screen. I entered '12345678' as the password and had no problems entering. For a criminal, she could have been more original.

The laptop resumed its activity before it had been locked and I found some pictures of us from the last Wednesday: we'd spent the afternoon at the hotel's jacuzzi.

I smiled. Maybe she'd been going over them.

I started to check them out myself when I noticed it wasn't just pictures of Wednesday, but more like a mix of days. And then I noticed that Wedy was in none of them.

My body went cold.

I minimized the window and met an opened internet page. Her e-mail account had been left open. An e-mail had been left unsent.

_ Coil,_

_As you can see, she's doing alright. Still no mentions regarding this 'B'. In a week I'll be taking her to_

The e-mail stopped there, but there were pictures attached. I did not have to look into them to know they were pictures of me.

I hurried up and destroyed every photograph in a very cold-blooded manner, not believing how stupid I'd been.

I deleted her e-mail text and re-typed it.

_Be careful what you wish for_.

I hit sent.

If the fucker wanted to find me, he clearly didn't understand what he was getting himself into.  
I held my head, thinking that if I pressed my hands any harder I'd finally destroy what was left of it.

"_What_ does Erald Coil have to do with this _at all_?"

Erald Coil was the world renowned second-best detective out there. That wouldn't stay like that for a _second_ if I ever made my own way into the detective business, I reassured myself, angered that he had a confirmation that I was alive. He was tearing my every effort apart. If this information reached the wrong hands...

I punched the glass table. I was relieved to find nothing had happened to it.

Yet if _Coil_ knew... What made me think L didn't know either?

Now, wait a minute. Where does Coil even know me from? He's known to respond to money, not personal interest. If he was looking for me, it had to be for money. Theoretically, only the Wammy's House knew of my existence, (of course, excluding the people from my past that had, by the way, no saying in the matter). The Wammy's House wouldn't give my case to _Coil_. Specially not when they had _L_.

Even if he was acting out of personal interest, (which would have been totally out of character), he had no way of knowing me... _Unless_ he was investigating the Cobden Bridge suicide. _Why?_ He chooses to act out of interest in possible the most boring case of the last decade?

I shook my head. There was a piece missing, but I'd find it later. I had a bigger problem now.  
I closed Wedy's computer and saved it in the exact same spot I'd found it in, feeling betrayed.

I was about to leave the room when the phone rang, possibly as aggressive as my heart was pumping.

I turned and watched it ring.

'They don't pass her calls when she's out.'

I stared at the phone in shock. It wouldn't stop ringing.  
I walked up to it, even when it had stopped.  
It rang again and I grabbed it quickly.

"Victoria Kentwood talking." I replied, trying to control my anger and fear.

After a rude slurp, I heard a throat clearing from the other side. But it was a strange kind of throat-clearing. It sounded metallic, it sounded...

"Hello, _Victoria_. This is Erald Coil." A synthetic voice mocked me.

I held my breath to avoid hyperventilation.

I had a special pack of insults just waiting to be thrown at him, but I successfully managed to ignore them. I figured that when the conversation leaked into the detective underworld-realm, my exaggeratedly adolescent attitude was the last thing I wanted to be noticed.

"Hello, _Erald Coil_." He was as much Erald Coil as I was Victoria Kentwood.

An exhalation produced a stormy-like sound. It sounded like a sly chuckle until I heard it being interrupted by someone munching from the other side of the line.

'Is this guy for real?' I asked myself, knowing that if I was ever able to choose a super-power, I'd choose the ability to punch people through phones.

"I was calling about an e-mail I received." He explained when the munching was over "Regardless of its intent, I thought it was rather nice that I finally got to hear from you. To be honest, I wasn't expecting that you'd pick up the phone... I guess you couldn't take it." The voice might have been synthetic, but I tell you what _did_ survive that technology: it's cockiness.

"Creep."  
Goodbye, mature Victoria. Hello, anger-issues A.

That laughter was at it again.

"I'm going to hang up the phone." I warned him.

The laughter stopped and was again interrupted by more munching. And then the dry voice tone.

"I've been following a series of thefts around." He explained, serious "Very smart thief, very greedy too. A bit of a rookie, though."

Ah. I hadn't thought of that. I let him continue.

"So, I started doing a little research, because the bank owners were a bit unhappy about their money disappearing, and found a couple of things that were rather funny..."

As he was talking, I remembered the e-mail Wedy had been about to send to him. She was about to tell him how "alright" I was doing and how I still hadn't mentioned anything about B. So he could explain why he knew about me. What on Earth did that have to do with B?

"So I pissed off some of your clients. That doesn't explain the fact that you know about B." I interrupted.

There was a pause. I heard an exhalation that translated as a smile.

"Oh. You mean to say you felt identified with any of the previous things I've mentioned?" The synthetic effect seemed to have no effects on his deep sarcasm.

I gasped. He wasn't accusing me?  
I'd just sold myself out. I'd underestimated him. It wouldn't happen again.

This realization was interrupted by yet more chewing sounds. It was obviously not the point of the call.

"Either way," He swallowed "this case hasn't gone out public yet, because bank owners don't want panic started, it's bad for business." He explained "So they asked me to get to the bottom of this."

A pause.

"Go on." I hated that I was encouraging him.  
"Strangely, these series of events coincides with the date of a very particular car accident that took place last year in Winchester, not too many months ago."

"That's a rather ungrounded assumption, don't you think?"

I heard another slurping sound.

"I'd be more than glad to tell you the details of my investigation, but you're running out of time."

I am what.

"What?" I replied grim.  
"I'm sure you've taken notice of my e-mail address by now." He ignored me "I suggest you leave the room you're at unless you want your _cousin_ to find you where you're not supposed to be."

He was watching me?  
I looked around nervous, with no real hopes of finding cameras.

"What? You don't mind it if she notices you?"

He'd predicted everything. He knew I'd be leaving that night as to escape his shadow or Wedy's, or whoever else was after me. He was basically telling me that it did not matter where I went, he could find me if he wanted to. He was telling me that it would be _me_ the one contacting him next. Specially since keeping my fake death a mystery was important to me. He'd done pretty much the same I'd done to Wedy.

"You're sharper than I had expected, dear." I admitted my lost battle.  
"Goodbye, Victoria."  
"Goodbye, Coil."

I hung up the phone.


	34. Part IV - Chapter I: Assumptions

**Assumptions**

I'd left everything behind but the clothes I was wearing and the rest of the money I still possessed. What I could, I'd stuffed inside my pockets, but seeing it as I didn't have enough of them, I was forced to stuff some of it in my bra. Rather uncomfortable. I don't want to go into details.

I sighed, sitting on a bench where I was carefully watching the snow fall. Fifteen minutes of it crashing against my face hadn't been enough for me to find it necessary to move. I didn't have to be facing a mirror to know my face would be completely white, except for a particularly bright red nose.

I sniffed, and covered my face with my silk scarf.

"I have nowhere to go."  
I was a bit depressed. And tired.

I'd left the Kentwood with the idea that I'd be leaving the country, off to somewhere else. Off to disappear in the night. Off to find B. But I didn't have the slightest clue where B could be.

"He could be in Yemen." I nodded, observant of yet another useless fact. I was a few steps away of adopting that attitude as new hobby. I was glad Watari wasn't around to see the 'Eve of his work' gone to waste. I didn't want to be the first person to make him cry.

"You've killed yourself, remember? Ah. Yes. True." Great. Now I was conversing with myself in public. It was a very Forrest Gump-y scene.

To find B I needed resources. Such as a computer. I could buy that. And a place to stay. I could afford that. But where would I stay? I wanted to leave Paris, but had little clue to where I'd be going.

"Maybe Italy." It was the closest thing to an Argentina that I had. And I could speak Italian. But what was the point, really? Whether I left or I stayed, it'd make little to no difference. I could probably just leave Paris and go somewhere else in France.

"Like Strasbourg." I nodded approving. Strasbourg was nice.

I buried my face in my hands.  
It had come the time to think about that which I'd been postponing for hours.

"Coil." I whispered his last name, puzzled.

This was his fault. But rather than that, why was he looking for me?  
From what I gathered, he was interested in finding B. I could only help but assume he wanted my help in exchange of some favor. Or to simply blackmail me. Something like 'if you don't help me, I'll tell everybody where you are.'

"But it doesn't really matter that he knows, does it? Either he tells or he doesn't."

If his intent was to blackmail me, then the whole game was already over. I wasn't going to find B for Coil. Doing that would have been no better than staying at the Wammy's House and leave matters to L to begin with. So I'd be bound to refuse before I was even asked.

I noticed a couple walking in front of me. They stood by a hot-dog stand and were apparently about to order. I heard my stomach growl. I looked away.

"Maybe he'll try to blackmail me, just to see if it works... But he's put a lot of effort into finding me." I didn't think he'd be willing to let go of me so easily. After all, he'd searched for me for a reason. So he'd try another tactic.

I tilted my head.

"As if my life wasn't strange enough."

All of this seemed terribly odd. I knew that if I wanted to find some answers I'd have to come in contact with Coil myself and find out. I was pretty much obliged at the point. Besides, he'd found a ghost. Maybe he'd found something about B that I could use.

I shook my head, not liking my situation one bit. I didn't want to depend on _Coil_.

Walking around, I found a cybercafé. I got inside and requested the use of one of the computers. I thought well about what to type in the body of the e-mail I'd be sending my stalker.

_Jsdfgwjxd._

Genius. Years of Wammy's House upbringing had finally started to pay off.

I sent it and waited, refreshing my inbox page every 5 seconds. 7 good minutes passed.

One of the phones started ringing. I looked around.

'You've got to be kidding me.' I thought, warily standing up to catch it.

I entered the booth and picked up the phone.

"Yes?" I asked insecure. I didn't even know whether the call was truly meant for me.  
"Miss Kentwood, I must say it's quite pleasant to hear your voice again so soon." The synthetic voice greeted.  
"Don't be too sure, Robocop." I regained my senses "What do you want?"

An amused gasp.

"I think we've got a friend in common."  
"I gather that much." I replied mid-yawn.

There was a pause.  
"You sound tired."  
"Lordy." I sounded impressed "You truly honor your detective title."

He chuckled and I accidentally joined. I mean, I was funny.

"I'm staying at the Imperial, why don't you come see me? I've got a room reserved for you. It's yours if you want it."

See him? He used a voice synthesizer and he was willing to _see_ me? Unlikely.

"Hah." I scoffed "So you could spy on me whilst not even being there? I'll pass."

I heard him hum thoughtfully.

"Fair enough. But you shouldn't wander alone around at these hours. I think it unwise for a young lady such as yourself."  
"I'll tell you what's unwise-" I was about to tell him off, but I was interrupted.  
"Anyway. I'm sure you've been wondering quite a few things as for my interest in you."  
"That is correct." I started playing with the phone's cable "But I phoned you to tell you that I am not going to help you. I don't know you. I don't trust you. And your interest to find B is surely as different as it could get from mine in doing so. I do not care what you do. I do not care if you tell on me, I have no intentions of helping you. Do I make myself clear?"  
"Oh?" He sounded disconcerted "Perfectly."

Eh... How embarrassing. I'd become over-passionate again before time. I figured it'd be best to let him talk.

"And it was me who phoned you, by the way." He clarified, slurping on a mug of something.  
I rolled my eyes over. I'd suddenly stopped thinking of him as a creepy forty year old. My imagination of his persona became younger by the minute.

"You're obviously very important to him." He sounded severe, making my blood go cold "I mean, he _did_ stab the driver that hit you with his car, didn't he?" The voice was again devoid of emotion.

"I've just told you I wasn't going to help your investigation."

An amused exhalation. His trick hadn't worked this time.

"I don't need your confirmation of it, anyway. I've got more than a reason to think this of my own."  
"Pray spill."

Food crunches.

"I don't mean to be rude, but may I remind you that it was so stated by yourself that we are not working together, miss Kentwood. Unless of course, you've had a change of mind..?"  
"Fair enough, no." I sighed "Please proceed."  
"I understand that you have committed suicide."

What?  
No.

How did he know that too? How had he managed to connect every single dot? There was something terribly wrong about this.

I sat thinking about Coil, forgetting we were even having a conversation.

"Miss Kentwood?" He called for my attention after a while.

The getting hit by a car, the 'suicide', B, Wedy... Who is that smart? Who is that anal and dedicate?

So I got hit by a car. B stabs the driver. Alright. Let's assume for a moment that he's got evidence or fairly good reasons to believe that B did this. I myself had no memory of that event and had come to the same conclusion, regardless of the missing palpable facts. There's that.

He then connects _that_ as the start of a series of thefts to banks. I didn't think that was impossible. After all, if B had escaped and meant to remain hidden, (as I'd experienced so myself), he probably had to steal quite a lot of money. But how much, really? I myself had taken quite a lot, but in general terms, it really wasn't that much.

I counted in dollars. Yes. Quite a banking nuisance, but not a losing your hair banking nuisance.

Anyway. He kept claiming to have evidence on all of his statements. I could assume that he had, but he could also simply be bluffing, maybe to try to get something out of me. I wouldn't be seeing any of that evidence any time soon, either way, and he knew that. So there was no real reason for it to be real.  
However, he had connected everything and he had succeeded in finding me post-mortem. Even if he claimed to be a psychic sent by God, hearing what he had to say was worth the try.

I exhaled, a bit annoyed. Everything he was saying was based on assumptions. I wasn't exactly fond of it, but I'd have to let it flow. Between the both of us, he probably was better informed than I was.

So he knew I'd jumped and 'killed myself'. After that, it was I who needed a few loans, so maybe his clients started to complain that things weren't getting any better. He probably became a little curious about the Cobden Bridge incident. _Why_ I would never know. But if that's what had happened, he'd hit the center of the blank.

How had he tracked me down to Paris..? Had he? Maybe it was just the Wedy's incident that caught his attention, but if it was that, then he'd found me out of sheer luck. Unlikely. Not the most incompetent of detectives would just connect every damn crime to his own case. That's literally nuts. Besides, I was sure the Regent incident wasn't the only crime that had taken place in the last months.

What if it was Wedy who had contacted him? The idea upset me more than I'd expected.  
But... That didn't make much sense either.

Maybe he'd found out about Cherryl. Maybe he saw the inconsistencies at the airport. It was an incredible long shot, but that was the most probable way that he could have found me by. After all, maybe he'd correctly guessed that I intended to leave England as soon as possible.

I frowned. _Too_ many assumptions.  
But he had found me.

What for? Why bring up the suicide now?

"You understand well." I came back from my abstraction.

The synthetic voice cleared his throat.

"Ah, miss Kentwood! I was starting to fear you had finally fallen asleep."  
"I never sleep." I mused.  
"Oh- I suppose that makes two of us." He remarked nonchalant "Anyway. I was meaning to ask you..."

He took a pause, but I didn't encourage him. I waited patiently.

"If he went as far as murdering a man when he thought you were dying, and thought also that the man he was killing was responsible for this..." I heard him eat again. Did he eat when he was nervous? "What good do you think will ever come out of him finding out that you've 'committed suicide'?"

I gasped.

"He's not supposed to find out. He's got no way of knowing." I'd been sure about this before, but the way he was questioning me made me have second-thoughts.

He didn't. He'd left the Wammy's House, he didn't know what I looked like at the moment I jumped, the suicido was supposedly a boy... Of course I couldn't be as naive as to think that had he had a suspicion, he wouldn't have been more than able to find out. But he had to have a reason to suspect that in the first place. He didn't have one... Did he?

"But you do understand the danger of having him believe this, don't you?"  
"Y-yes..." What was he getting at? I didn't like it.  
"And given that you wish for his well-being, you wouldn't want him to find out that you're dead, would you?"

My face went blank.

"No." I replied faintly.

So the real threat wasn't him telling anybody that I was alive, the real threat was him telling B that I was dead. That changed things.

He gave me time to process it.

"Are you for real, you sick piece of shit?!" I shouted, massively upset.

He didn't seem inconvenienced by my threats at all. He cleared his throat, patiently waiting.  
What if B started killing people? What if money was the least of our concerns? Would Coil really be willing to risk that? Would he be able to live with it?

I waited until I was breathing normally again.  
I laughed.

"I don't know what makes you feel so special." I said dryly "You're more like him than you know."

He hummed, considering my words carefully, not taking offense.

"You'd be surprised." He mused in agreement.

He kept catching me off guard.

"Anyway." He went on with disinterest "As of now, I urge you to accept the hotel room at the Imperial Hotel. I assume this must be quite a lot to take in for a single night. I don't want a Seine River incident taking place. I'll be in contact soon."

I breathed out rashly, not believing him to be real.  
Before I could protest, he hung up the phone.

"Goodbye, Victoria." He said before leaving.

I hung up the phone and walked out of the place numbly, shaking my head. He was really sharper than I had expected.


	35. Part IV - Chapter II: Woof

**Woof**

I realized that Coil was one hell of a smart guy. He'd managed to scare me, and I'd fallen right into his act, stricken with emotions and concern, thus ignoring an important detail.

I slapped my own forehead.

'This is exactly what happens when you're vulnerable.'

I looked down at my hand and noticed the cigarette resting on it.

"_No._" Wedy had said "_Only Khlav Kalash_."

What had innocently been a neat Simpson's reference, turned out to be quite a peculiar metaphor. You see, in the episode where the Khlav Kalash vendor appeared, Homer had found them to be incredibly disgusting. Yet regardless of this, with the pass of the time he found himself consuming abusive amounts of it.

'This better be a one time thing.' I warned myself.

But my body had welcomed the dizzy calmness the cylindrical killer in my hand was providing me with.  
'He can't tell B that I'm dead. He doesn't even know where he is. This is, however, not necessarily an inconvenient. There are ways to deliver messages in spite of not exactly knowing where the receiver is, if you know how to do it. But I could blow up his plan by simply calling Roger and explaining everything that had happened. I would have tried, I would have failed, but B wouldn't be as much as dangerous as we already think he is.' I resolved.

I'd been walking around in circles for a while now. I could almost see the hot dog stand for the fifth time. Only a few more meters.

In a very uncivil manner, I threw my cigarette on the ground and stamped on it with my good foot, heading for the hot dog cart.

I asked for one with mayonnaise, mustard and little chips all over it, smiling at the irony that I was visiting Paris and eating street hot dogs instead of trying its famous cuisine. I really had no idea what I was doing with my life, did I?

So Coil wasn't exactly a threat then. That didn't mean that he wasn't useful: on the contrary, he'd proved to be quite the smart monkey. It was clear that he wanted something from me, but to define what exactly was slightly more complicated, given that he still hadn't told me. My bets were on the fact that he wanted me out of the case. That or my help, but either choice was a benefit to him. He probably was correctly thinking that if I happened to find B before him, his services would no longer be required. I could see why that should be a cause for frustration.

On the other hand, didn't he know that L was looking for B too? He probably was more advanced than the both of us combined by then.

Nonetheless, as far as I knew, the only one who knew I was alive from the both of them was Coil. I wondered what sort of advantage I represented... Maybe using me as a bait?

I sighed. I certainly did not like not to understand.

Anyway. If I could convince Coil that he had actually tricked me into being at his mercy, maybe I could 'agree to investigate with him' and get in touch with whatever facts, evidence or dreams it was that he had. Personally, I liked putting my thoughts into paper, but I didn't really have an inconvenient with stacking information inside my head. That way, I'd be able to progress without him taking notice of this. Once I'd gathered enough data, I'd abandon him to find B before the mercenary had a chance to notice I was gone.

I smiled. 'I warned you Coil. Do be careful what you wish for.' I thought to myself inside the cab.

I arrived the Imperial Hotel and was surprised to meet Wedy at the entrance. Or maybe not so surprised, after all. After a cold glance that summed up all the evil I was capable of, I asked her what she was doing there.

"My job." She answered, her every feeling hidden behind her sunglasses.  
"Did you come to steal the Hotel's card deck supplies?" I groaned, remorseful.

"I like to vary." She replied ignoring my anger "Shall we enter?" She held the door.

I walked onward, moodily.

Vary _this_.

I was heading for the counter but Wedy's voice disturbed my ideas again.

"Everything has been handled for you already. Your things are upstairs. 20th floor."

I took a moment to breathe in and out before I turned.

She was holding the key to my room. The keychain read "2121".

I grabbed it and headed for the elevator. As soon as the doors were closed behind me, I kicked them. Of course they were stronger than I could ever hope to be, so that actually hurt. A lot.

'Not the other foot, you moron.' I condemned myself.

Luckily, by the time I'd reached my floor the pain had ceased, so I proceeded to locate the room 2121. Upon finding it, I angrily tried to stick my key in the keyhole (that's what he said?), but my mood prevented me from doing it right for about 1 full minute.

I breathed in. I opened the door correctly and after I'd carefully gotten myself inside the room, I banged it with dark pleasure.

I sat on the floor waiting for Roger to yell at me, but he didn't.

'Oh. Right.' I smiled to myself.

I took a deep breath and chuckled the tension off.

"I am never going to grow up." I gave up on that idea as I stood on my feet again "Worse. Maybe it's not mere childishness..." I pondered looking for my room's fridge. The hot dog hadn't been enough "...Maybe these are just the signs that I'm growing madder by the day and... Aha! Yogurt..! Yogurt's nice..." I took it out and reached for a spoon.

I sat on the floor to eat and talk to myself, something I'd become quite the expert at.

An almost electronic and pedantic chuckle froze my movements.

"I wouldn't worry about that, miss Kentwood. You're perfectly harmless. From what I gather, you bark a lot but never bite."

Of course. What was I expecting? Peace and quiet?  
I stood up to find some form of radio next to the sink.

...Had he known the first place I'd be entering would be the kitchen? I didn't know whether I should be feeling offended or fat. Or both.

'Harmless.' I could swear he'd said that on purpose.

"You've obviously never read The Boy Who Cried Wolf." I sat back in my place, getting my spoon back on track.

"Quite on the contrary, miss Kentwood, wouldn't you think?"  
"Just keep getting used to my harmlessness. The wolves are coming." I encouraged.  
"They'll never find me." He challenged back, entertained.

I hummed thoughtfully and then laughed to myself.

"I wouldn't be too sure, master Coil." I got myself a spoonful of yogurt, but it never made it to my mouth. An idea had just stricken my head.

I smiled evilly.

"I wouldn't be too sure..." I repeated under my breath.

I got up and checked the radio. Terrible quality.  
I shook my head, smilingly.

'Well, this was fun. I must admit my memory of Hide and Seek wasn't half as good as this...' I sighed disappointed 'I _did_ expect better.'

There was a 'mute' button on its side. As long as there was a finger pressed on it, he wouldn't hear anything of what I said, but I would be able to hear what he was saying. Pressing that exact same button, I quickly grabbed the radio and carried it with me outside the room.

"Aren't you going to sleep, miss Kentwood?"

I removed the finger from the mute button to reply.

"We've already discussed my sleeping habits. On the other hand, I think it's about time we drop the 'miss Kentwood', don't you think?" I distracted him, and ran left before he could answer.

"Would you rather I called you 'A'?" The voice sounded more distant, I could barely make out what he was saying. As if the synthetic voice wasn't enough.

So not left...

I ran back to my door and removed the finger off the mute button once again.

"That's rather reckless. I trust you'll come up with something less suspicious." I said before running to the right.

"I'm sure we'll come to terms about these matters in a heart beat, but I'd rather we discussed my interest in you, if you don't mind."

Oh no, I do not mind at all...

The reception in my radio was more powerful, yet not perfect. I checked the rooms around me. 2000, 2001 were my favored mark.

'Boy, I love being smart!' I ran to the elevators.

"Send me a memo." I remembered him.

I pressed the button that would take me to the last floor, the 26th, that is.

"Are you not interested?" The voice was crystal clear.

I pressed the 23th floor button.

"It's not so much that I'm not interested..." I replied vaguely. I needed to keep him talking.  
"Yes..?" He replied after my pause had been prolonged enough. Pretty good, but the reception was not as strong as it'd been on the last floor.

'Last floors are predictable.' I complained.

I hit the 25th elevator button.

'Just one more to go.'

"It's just that this conversation is as much personal as a memo. So why bother?" A bullshit excuse, but whatever.

"Oh... I see. But you do understand that there's nothing we can do against distance, don't you?"

Really?

"One sec."

I headed to the 7000th door and peered through the lock. Nothing life-changing, the lights were off. I did the same on the one marked as '7001'. Lights on.

I had no guarantees, but I knocked on the door anyway.

Nobody answered.

I knocked harder again.

Still no answer.

"I can see the lights on, you prick! Open the door!" I knocked it harder.

Finally the door opened, taking my breath away.

A couple wearing robes peered out with a look of fear and disconcert.

"Oh... Uh..."

_Shit._

"Je suis désolée! Je cherchais pour mon copain!" I apologized like crazy and excused myself saying I was looking for my boyfriend.

They looked at each other and the man finally spoke to his wife, telling her to call security. On second thoughts, more like mistress, given that their wedding rings were different colours and shapes.

'_Oh,_ Paris...' No judging.

"Je suis vraiment désolé...!" I tried to excuse myself embarrassed, running out of words.

A door opened from behind me. I couldn't make myself turn regardless of how much I tried.

"S'il vous plaît pardonnez ma copine. Elle est un peu affectée." A deep monotone voice talked to the adulterous man in front of me.

'Please forgive my girlfriend. She's a little affected.'

My heart was pounding.

Over my shoulder, a long white sleeve was extending a good roll of money to the man whose privacy I'd just disturbed. The man called his girlfriend, telling her to forget the call. He turned to Coil and me.

"Pas de problème..." He took the money shyly and went back to his room.

As for me, before I could get a moment's breath, the arm grabbed mine and pulled me into his dark room. He was standing right in front of me, but despite the closeness, I could still not tell what his face looked like.

"Woof?"


	36. Part IV - Chapter III: Plot Twist

**Plot Twist**

**"**_If you can live with the fact that you're putting someone through that pain, through that fear; if you can live with the fact that you'll have felt, literally, their lives slip away from your hands, feel them die, feel yourself the cause of their deaths, of their unjustified ends, then- I think, you could murder someone._**" - _B_ _ Part II, Ch. VIII_**

* * *

My hand reached for the light switch, but in spite of the dark, Coil's hand was faster.

He exhaled deeply, but I couldn't tell what kind of exhalation it was. Was he angry? Was he going to beat the crap out of me? Was he going to do _ungodly_ things to me?

No, he didn't sound mad... I mean, I should know. I was mad all the time.

I gasped, noticing I'd broken my breath holding record.

The room was dark, the air was tense, my ideas uncertain.

"Listen, Mr. Phantom of the Opera..." I blurted out, for some reason whispering. My sentence died mid-way.

My pinky finger escaped his grasp and, before he could help it, the lights were on.

As he was looking down, all I could see was his long and messy black hair, his long-sleeved white t-shirt, his jeans, his feet...

My head hurt. All that was terribly fam...

He looked up.

...iliar.

Two big, dark grey eyes were piercing mine, cautiously. He was pale, he was young, he was tired.  
But above all, he wasn't Erald Coil.

"Y-You're not..." I gasped.  
"...Erald Coil." He helped me out.

He was L.

As of now, I'm sure you want to hear of how we blended into each other's arms, anger and pain and joy dancing underneath our skins in a carnal representation of all human tragic passions, but if I have to be completely honest, things took a slightly different route.

"Help me out here, young lad..." I incomprehensibly mumbled as I went down on my knees, trying to fight my way back up by clutching on to his arms.

'_Error 404: Explanations not found_.'

My vision was becoming blurry, the corners darkening and taking a rather purple staining.

'Where is my breath?'

"Amelia, you're not fainting, are you?"

'Seriously, guys. My breath?'

I resolved to lay down and hold my legs up against the wall to increase the blood flow to my head.

"On the contrary, dear, that is precisely what is going on..." I muttered faintly.

"A?" The voice was more curious than actually concerned.

Well, that went well.

I'd been preparing myself for that moment for years. I had pictured my reunion with L so many times that I knew our lines by heart, and would have probably corrected him if he'd dared change my script. And there was, in none of my expectations, the idea of fainting in front of the world's greatest detective. I'm sure I must have looked like a worthy successor. That rather unfeminine position wasn't helping much either.

I could hear dozens of Wammy generations facepalming inside my head.

"I was not-..."  
"...Expecting this." He cut me off.  
"This changes-..."  
"...Everything." He nodded.  
"You need to-..."  
"Explain everything? We both owe each other quite a few explanations, dear A..."  
"I was going to say 'shut up'."

He took a moment's pause.

"Oh."

After the ground stopped moving, I opened one eye to find him eyeing me as a kid would stare at a dead squirrel, fighting the urge to pick me with a stick.

"I could _murder_ you." I threatened once I'd regained half of my consciousness, filled with poison "You don't know how hardly I mean it."

He responded with a half-smile, amused by something possibly funny only to himself.

"I believe you." No signs of emotion.  
"You don't look too scared." I watched him stand up and leave my corpse by the door.

"Oh, I am quite terrified." I heard him reply from a distance.

I intended to follow but it still wasn't time to stand up.

After a while, I heard his footsteps creeping their way back to my position.

He stopped a few meters before my eyes and, once he'd made sure I was looking, he started tumbling to his sides, holding a piece of cake between his hands. It took me a while to notice the movement existed because of how subtle and slow a pace it was being carried at.

"J-Just what are you doing now?" I demanded, fearing I probably didn't want to know.

He stopped and looked down at me, disappointed.

"I'm shaking in fear." He replied as if it'd been obvious.

I turned my face away from his sight. He didn't have the right to make me smile.

I heard him approach and crouch by my side.

"I believe this could be of help." He observed before leaving my body by the door again.

I waited until he was a few meters away before turning.

"Where are you going?" I cried. I noticed he'd left the plate with cake by my side.

He sat crouching on the sofa on the other side of the room, where both his laptop and a cup of tea had been waiting for him. He replied without looking up from the screen.

"Well. You know what they say..." He replied dryly, getting so sucked up by his computer that he almost forgot we were conversing "If you touch your pets when they're eating, there's a chance you might get bit." He hit the enter key and started typing.

I could feel myself boiling.

He lifted his eyes briefly as to observe my reaction and, after finding himself very much pleased with the results, his attention drifted back to his computer.

I started eating, reminding myself to chew my food. I didn't want to choke before I had had my chance to... To...

'Ugh. Forget it. I'll deal with you when I wake.'

* * *

I decided to fully wake up when I noticed that no bells would be tolling. It was always strange to me how synchronized I'd become with them. Sometimes I'd stop and listen to check if they were sounding in the background, only to meet disappointment. They had left quite a sick scourge within my brain.

'I'm not in Kansas anymore.' I remembered, opening my eyes.

I couldn't help but to notice that I was no longer lying on the floor. Either I could teletranport in my sleep or someone had taken the noble trouble to transfer me to the coach and place a bed-cover over my body. Try to guess which theory was awesome and which theory was a PG-13 cliche.

I sat trying to figure out who was whistling Bach. I was so focused on figuring out which Cello Suite it was, that I had completely ignored my natural instinct to look for an expensive vase to smash the possible intruder's head with it.

Ah. The fifth Suite.

I took the bed-cover off and followed the whistling sounds. The aroma of coffee met me by the kitchen's door.

I smiled. Watari.

He was still too much into his labor to notice my presence. I took pleasure in watching him work, patiently, but a bit distractedly. He was possibly reminding himself to buy the paper.

I suddenly remembered the last time I'd seen him. I didn't really know if he'd be happy to see me. I panicked.

After a while, he'd poured the coffee he'd prepared into two white mugs and put them in a trail. It was when he turned to leave that he noticed me standing warily by the door.

For three long seconds, there was nothing I could read off his face. He set his tray aside and, once he'd made sure it was safe, his every expression changed into one of the deepest joys I'd seen. Not even a dog ever looked that happy to see me.

"A...!" He extended his arms and, without wasting a second, I stepped forward to hug him, fighting the urge to weep like a toddler "You're awake..."

"Hello." I mumbled.

It is quite unexplainable how glad I was that_ that_ had been his reaction. _I mean_. It was pretty much a re-enactment of "The Parable of the Douchebag Son". I had totally screwed up in every way possible, and upon my return, he was simply glad to see me, ever forgiving. Of course, we couldn't lose focus of the fact the children under his responsibility weren't exactly normal or living under normal circumstances (regardless of how fabulously rich). What I had done was probably but the tiniest part of what he was fearing I could do or that I could turn to. He was probably just glad that I wasn't hurt, that I was sorry, and that I wasn't going all Vlad Tepes and terrorizing villagers like...

Like B.

(_Yes. On a lesser scale._)

I'd never thought how Watari must have been feeling that one of the kids he'd taken under his care had committed murder and escaped. Just _imagine_. If I felt as horribly responsible as I was feeling, then...

We separated and he took the tray back on his hands.

"Come on now, let's have coffee, yes?"

See what I tell you? Let's have coffee. Just that. 'Let's have coffee'. It is as bizarre as a family can get.

We sat on a table by each other's side, facing the windows to enjoy the view. Of course that the Eiffel tower was visible, what were you expecting? But when you think about it, that was probably as close as L would ever get from it.

I carried my mug to my mouth, turning to Watari. He had his sight lost in the city, but seemed to be looking for something. It was words.

Upon noticing that I was observing him, he turned and smiled. He looked the exact same way that someone looks like when they're going to tell you a long hidden truth.

"I had only seen you in pictures, or also occasionally in the video-conferences that we'd hold for the orphanage..." He started with no introductions.

"_Video_-conferences?"

"That's right." He nodded, to then add smilingly "And yes. We _could_ see you sitting quietly in the back, playing staring-contests with the carpet..."

I looked down, embarrassed.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, to be fair, you never asked, child."

I frowned, amused by his reply.

"I think you've been spending too much time with L." I accused.

He chuckled.

"Well, when you put it like that, it is true."

"You were saying." I hugged my knees. Quite improper for sitting at the table, but that's just the way one is meant to listen to stories.

He retraced his words and went on.

"Anyway. Years of watching you grow, however indirectly, of hearing you play devil's advocate on the phone every time that Roger was on the verge of getting an apoplexy... I guess it all should have prepared me for meeting the young lady that ran to me that night we arrived... But even after hours after our arrival, I still couldn't get used to this new, taller, and beautiful young woman that you had turned into after so long..." He paused "What?"

I was biting my lip. He was such a _dad_. Or even granddad.

"So much for taller. I'm like 162 cm tall. I could pass for an Oompa-Loompa if I wanted." I protested.

Shaking his head, he went on. I was beginning to tell he'd started to remember what it was like to tell stories to me: impossibly long.

"You made your way through the other children and were first to give me a hug and a kiss, but, before you could remember to ask about my flight or read me my Miranda rights, you were already interrogating me about L. It seemed as if you didn't fully trust that he was coming and you needed to make absolutely sure. I knew that whatever I said at that point would have been held against my..." He noticed my face "What now?"

"Nothing." I rolled my eyes over "Go on."

"And then he came out of the car... You know? I was watching a documentary on telly last night about monkeys," Of course he was "that reminded me just about that moment." Of course it did "You two looked exactly like those monkeys did when they saw their own reflection in the mirror for the first time."

He looked at me, expectant. I shrugged.

"I'm a genius, not a mind reader." I complained. But secretly, I felt like I knew what he had meant.

He chuckled again.

"It was as if..." He returned his gaze to the window, fixing his glasses "As if you knew who it was that was standing in front of you, and yet some part of you couldn't fully understand the obvious." He shrugged "I guess that maybe it was because you'd been waiting for the moment so long, that you'd never really thought it would come..." He cleared his throat "Anyway. As you might have noticed, L was never a fan of noise, or crowds..."Noticed? What kind of detective would I be if I hadn't..? "Both he and I had been fearing that the children's cheering and their whole furor to see him, and talk to him, and touch him would stress him too much... But as he walked up to we were standing at, he had seemed completely oblivious to the multitude gathering at the entrance.

It took you a while to smile at each other..."

"The whole monkey's thing." I helped out skip that part and he smiled in agreement.

"... But that was possibly as warm as your greetings got, which, to be honest surprised me... Although, pondering on it, maybe not so much..."

"What things are those that you're pondering?" I asked innocently, feeling strangely threatened.

He shook his head, discarding it.

"You told me you and Roger needed to talk to us about something important as soon as we got a chance, which was right after supper. We went to Roger's office, and that's when he explained us about the letter that B had given you before he parted. It said he'd be back after a week..." Yes, I remembered that "It was merely preventive when we called the police, really. We actually thought he'd be back after the first week..." He got lost for words for a moment and sighed "We got Linda to draw a portrait of him to give the officers, (I think that was your idea)," Quite probably "and you and L started to work out where it was that he could have been gone to, and searched his room for possible ideas... But in the end, it really all came down to waiting for that first week to pass... You were the one worried the most, I remember."

He took his glasses off to clean them and returned them to their place. He did that every time he found himself rather uncomfortable.

"On the sixth day's night, (or more like the seventh day's first hours of the morning), you and L went missing.

What he told me, was that he saw you 'irrationally waiting for B to show up at the entrance'. Apparently he'd tried to convince you that going back inside was 'the rather reasonable approach', but you politely refused to go. He left you to your wait, but he thought it would have been 'wise' to keep an eye on you. And so he did.

Around 4 in the morning, L was about to insist that you went back inside, but he saw you run to the entrance. Neither him or the cameras caught what it was that had called for your attention, but we later on learnt that it had been B.

He must have said something terribly convincing, because the next thing everybody knows, was that you were climbing your way up the fence and chasing after him."

Oh Gee. How could _that_ have gone wrong?

"Instead of telling anybody, L went after the two of you." He sighed "You two are terrible..."

I looked down. But I was terrible the most.

He lifted his sight back again and placed it on the horizon.

"The three of you walked far away from the orphanage. You almost got to the center of Winchester. L said that even though you didn't seem threatened by him, the whole atmosphere was, in his words, 'wrong'. At first he was close enough to hear bits of your conversation, which ranged from your 'mothering him into going back to the Wammy's House' to his discarding the topic into trivialities, convincing you that everything was alright..."

He looked down and cleaned his glasses. He was taking his time.

"I think those glasses are clean now, Watari." I muttered, holding my legs closer to my chest.

"Are you sure that you want to hear what happened?" He stared into my eyes.

I knew that it was a one way ride.

I cleared my throat.

"Yes."

He scrubbed his glasses one more time and put them back into their place.

"You and B were talking by the street. It was hard for L to see anything, and very few cars were driving by. He was about to show up, which was when things took the unexpected turn. To this day, we still don't understand what or why or... We don't even-"

He would be going off topic if I didn't stop him.

"What happened?"

He sighed.

"A car was passing by and B, he... He pushed you in front of it."

I sat frozen and thought about it. I shook my head.

That did not make sense. Why would B ever want to push me front of a car? Just. What?

"That doesn't make sense." I refuted.

"I know." He was looking straight at me.

"I mean, that can't be right. B would never want to push me in front of a car. Why would he do that?" I became uneasy "Are you listening to this story? It _doesn't_ compute..!" I tried to keep my agitation to myself.

Watari didn't answer. If I wanted to get to the bottom of everything, I'd have to stick my feelings where the sun ain't shine and listen to the rest. Even if it included aliens and a Broadway musical number of The Lion King, featuring B as Scar.

I sighed, cautiously.

"Go on." I made a hand gesture that it was safe to proceed.

He no longer presented any warnings.

"Before L could reach you, the car driver had stopped to check on you. However, he never got to make sure you were alright, because, for some reason, B opted to stab him. Repeatedly. The news didn't put it half as bad as it really was."

I would have asked 'He had a knife?' but it was pretty safe to assume that he hadn't stabbed the man with a loaf of bread.

I sat staring at the horizon and thought of a better question.

"Watari." I snorted, suddenly remembering "Did B say anything about some numbers?"

He frowned curious.

"Yes... L-... Yes, do you know what he meant?"

I shook my head. But he'd pushed me in front of a car for no reason. What gives?

"Please, continue." I urged him, going back to my preferred position. I was pretty much sure that another wouldn't have kept my body together just as well.

"So L got there and he and B had some kind of exchange..." I assumed that 'exchange' was Watari for fight "But L labeled it as 'irrelevant' and didn't talk about it more than necessary." He frowned "Anyway. In the end, B ended up running away. And given that you were literally dying on the street, there was no time to run after him."

We shared silence and took a sip of our coffees simultaneously.

"L searched the man's jacket, and upon finding a cellphone, he used it to phone an ambulance that, thank the Heavens, didn't take too long too arrive. We learnt everything that had happened minutes after the ambulance had taken care of you. Past that point, L really thought you were beyond help... When he called, we... We were told to expect the worse."

I shivered, remembering the way my body and face looked like after I'd woken up. I noticed I was scratching the scar hidden in my lip as I did.

"...But for some reason you survived, thank God for that."

"As for the man...?"

He shook his head.

"No, A. The man was almost beyond recognition. He'd lost so much blood that he never even made it to dream about being s-..." He realized his language had probably come off a bit too strong. His eyes calmed down.

I wasn't sure why I wasn't crying. I just... I don't know. At that point I wasn't sure about anything really. Everything was so... Different.

"And then." I requested, before he'd even dare think change the subject.

"And then everybody waited. We didn't know if you'd survive. You were in a coma for about 9 days until you woke up, which, at first nobody would believe. I'm sure you know the rest."

"Hah." I exhaled "Well. Not _everything_."

"What is troubling you, dear?"

I fiddled with my thumbs.

"You understand why I pretended to kill myself, right?"

His lips curved, not exactly forming a smile. He nodded after processing my question.

"You figured the boys wouldn't let you play." He put it simply.

I took my breath.

"Yes. In a sense, that is what happened. I wanted to... I _want_ to find B. He is..." I looked down, wondering if I meant it as passionately as I once had. I did "He is my friend. I could have helped, and I didn't. It was, at least partially, my fault."

"A, you can't think that. I mean, not that he can't be-..."

"Oh, but I do. Because it is true." I cut him off. I wasn't looking for pity "I can't blame myself for his strange personality switch, but I could have done something to prevent what happened. And I didn't. And he's my friend. And it's my life." I fought the urge to lead a thumb to my mouth. I'd probably lost it "And neither you, nor L, nor Roger had any right to keep the truth from me. My lie was the outcome of yours." I said grimly, feeling my throat getting funny "And so you came after me. _Fine_. You caught me. _I tried_. And I would have tried it again... But what's with this Coil thing? Seriously. How was it necessary? How come we never discussed this? Don't you think it's taking things a bit too far?"

Watari sighed, seizing his words carefully.

"A... L... You're not too mad at him, are you?"

"I am furious." I admitted.

"But don't you see?"

"See what? How I'm constantly treated like I am 8 years old? You can't- _He_ can't choose on this matter for me. Nobody can. And he deliberately violated that right of mine."

He sighed again.

"I know." He admitted after a while "But what do you think made him do it?"

"I don't know." I shrugged "Maybe I was a suspect too. Maybe he was fearing I'd go nuts and start a vampire clan with B. Maybe he thought he knew better than to just ask."

He smiled to himself, as if seeing an obvious mistake I was oblivious to.

"No, A..." He finally looked at me "Do you think that after an incident like that he'd let you anywhere near B? Or, better put it this other way: do you think that after an incident like that, he'd let _B_ anywhere near you?"

I gasped. I hadn't thought about it that way.

"What does he care, anyway? You just send watches and stuff for my birthday..." I shrugged, trying to forget he'd ever answered.

He smiled, shaking his head as if saying 'Blessed are the dull ones, theirs will be the kingdom of detectives... Sadly.'

"Do you know how he found you?" He brought it up.

I looked up, still frowning and shook my head.

"You asked him to?"I took a guess.

He smiled at himself.

"I'll let you ponder on it..." He looked away, thoughtfully "I think there's quite a plot twist you've got to process." He stood up to take our mugs back to the kitchen. I offered to help, but he signaled me not to.

I rested my chin over the table. Yay. More processing.


	37. Part IV - Chapter IV: Coin

**Coin**

If there was a trait that B, L and I all shared, then it was stubbornness. It was the way we'd deal with it that differed.

To beat B at a discussion was next to impossible, mainly because getting to hold a real discussion with him was next to impossible on the first place. He wasn't really a fan of _discussing_, basically because he set off from the premise that he was unchangeably right. We would have some interesting debates now and then, but after some point, he'd rather discard matters and 'let you believe what you chose to believe', which I found to be extremely obnoxious.

When a statement doesn't make sense to me, it is inevitable that I analyze it until I either comprehend it and am able to accept it myself, or until I successfully disprove it and everybody agrees. I terribly dislike to 'agree to disagree'. B was perfectly aware of this, an on occasion used that aspect of mine for his own benefit and/or amusement.

However, on the rare occasions when he _did_ realize that he hadn't been right, he'd quietly accept it and credit you for it. Even if it was the most miserable of defeat acceptances, it signified quite a lot coming from him, so I took what I could and ran. It was quite an achievement, really.

To beat L at a discussion, on the other side, didn't feel like beating L at a discussion at all. When we didn't see eye to eye, we'd try to figure out _why_. It was like holding the pieces to different sides of the same puzzle, and we couldn't conform with holding the half part of the picture. The problem was that we'd start solving it from the bottom again, and it never was a matter of putting six pieces together, but thousands and thousands of them.

This sounds quite yin yang, zen and diplomatic, but at times it could get really dense. Sometimes it would take entire weeks to decide on a final answer, because we just wouldn't comprehend that some things can't be truly agreed on, like who is the rightful owner to the last piece of cake. Had Watari arrived any minute later, and we would have actually phoned UN members over that one. Looking back on it, it's a bit sad isn't it? Had it happened, it would have made a glorious Wikipedia article.

Anyway. The matter that we were still to discuss, wasn't just a question of battling philosophical ideas in a world of abstraction, so we couldn't take the liberty of time. Our problem was real, our positions deep rooted. There were measures to be taken and differences to be settled, fast, even if that meant coming to terms on things we weren't fully okay with (which quite possibly meant: things _I_ wasn't fully okay with). And while he and I were still to settle our old married couple quarrels, B was as much nonchalant about what we thought as ever, running around freely.

The phone rang, sending my whole mantra back to the seventh door of hell.

Technically, it _was_ next to my coach, but for some reason, I was sitting upside down.  
Trying to reach for it, I tumbled over the table and destroyed the phone.  
I took a peek at the damage. Nothing that I couldn't put back together later.  
I extended my right arm and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" I exhaled breathless, hoping I hadn't lost my caller. An unusual sensation for someone like me, but the last ten hours had been too boring not to be excited about a change in the atmosphere.

A contemplative silence.

"Am I interrupting something?" A raspy voice replied, faintly mocking.

I thought he'd never awake again.

"L. Did you sleep well?"

I heard a yawn on the other side of the line.

"Most pleasantly. Thank you."

There was a long silence.

"So... Was there a purpose to this call?" I asked, sliding awkwardly off the coach to sit on the floor. It was the first good idea I'd had that day.

"Oh, the call. Yes."

I figured he was staring at his laptop screen as we talked.

"Judging by the lack of death threats in this conversation, I assume you've talked to Watari by now."

I chuckled lightly.

"I have."  
"So you understand why I lied to you." He'd said it as an affirmation, but I was pretty sure he was looking for a confirmation there.

I pondered on it, slightly frowning. 'Lied' was an understatement.

"I can understand what may have motivated you." I corrected, crossing legs.

That he may or may not have done it out of concern wasn't a perfect justification.

"But I'm forgiven." Little did he seem to care about perfect justifications.

I took a deep breath and sighed, not fully convinced.

"You may keep your life." I surrendered "For the moment."

He analyzed my reply.

"That is excellent news..." He exhaled relieved, feeling the need to add: "I don't know what the world _do_ without me."

I laughed out loud.

"Oh, I can think of a thing or two."

I could hear him smile over the phone.

"So Round 1 is over." I said almost impulsively, as if for some reason I'd felt the need to avoid pauses.

His ideas were accompanied with a barely audible humming. Upon finding the words, he expressed:

"I wouldn't go as far as to labeling it 'Round 1' yet, if you allow the correction. I fear this was nothing but simple warm-up."

In case you're wondering, 'simple' is L for 'pretty fucking twisted'. I'd learnt to keep a mental dictionary to avoid 'simple' confusions.

I curved my lips, half concerned, half observant.

"Simple warm-up, ey?" I turned around, lying on the floor.

He didn't reply. Holding a conversation with L on the phone was possibly as patience-eating as talking to the cable company to suspend their services. I could even hear typing on the other side.

Typing, slurping, munching. Just _imagine_ if he could play the bagpipes.  
The typing ceased, he grabbed the phone again and lead it to his ear.

"And I take it you still want to go after him?"  
"Hah." I gasped challenging "Like I'd leave him to _you_." I teased.

Instead of laughing, he stayed silent.

"Yes." He admitted after careful consideration "I can see why you shouldn't want to."

I laid wondering what sort of statement that was. It hadn't sounded like he'd told that to_ me_, it had sounded like a thinking fragment that had been accidentally been blurted out loud.

"And you do understand that I have absolutely no intentions for B to return to the Wammy's House again." He went on with authority, faintly disturbing the silence "As of ever."

But deeply disturbing me.

_That_ was a hard blow.

On the one hand, L considered my intentions to find B to be personal. That was correct. They were. I wanted to find B to... (Let's put it in these inaccurately romantic terms:) '_save_' him. L on the other side, wanted to find him and catch him _for good_. And it was perfectly understandable why he should want this. After all, B _did_ represent a real danger for everybody. He'd stabbed a person and pushed his one close friend in front of a car. What stopped him from doing that again? L had more than a reasonable argument to distrust him.

When you put it like that, it would seem as if I was being an unreasonable, feeling-guided naive person (I mean, I _was_ half-ignoring the fact that B had tried to kill me), while L was the ever patient, cool-headed genius that did not let anything but justice get in the way. But I had my reasons not to be so fully sure of that nonsense.

Watari had had funny choice of words that morning.

'_You figured the boys wouldn't let you play_.' He'd said. It had kept coming and going inside my head ever since I'd heard it.

Maybe it's just me, but it does sound a bit particular, doesn't it?

'The boys wouldn't let me play...' I repeated mentally 'Why?'

It didn't sound too 'impersonal' and cool-headed to me. If you followed that train of thought, without going to extremes, if for whatever reason, L had an even slightly _personal_ ground to be a bit less than partial in his motive to catch and punish B, then we were just different sides to the same coin. And he was, in that sense, no better than me.

I wanted to make sure B was alright, while L 'could see why I shouldn't want to leave B to him.' It was a bit disturbing to even think of those words. But on the other side, I didn't want to start thinking ill of L either. I still thought affectionately of him, and the fact that he hadn't attempted to kill me, but to lazily protect me, had to at least count off as 10 points for Gryffindor. This was only but a grown-up dispute.

Sadly for me, I _understood_ that B would never be able to return to the Wammy's House. It sort of hurt, but it was to be expected. The Wammy's House was not arguable. But maybe other places were.

"What if starts talking about the Wammy's House to other people?" I vaguely objected.

He replied as if he'd been expecting a response of the kind.

"I'll worry about it."

Yes, of course L would worry about it.  
I stared at the ceiling, doing thinking.

"Would you be open to discuss the idea of sending him to a psychiatric hospital instead?"

I sat back again, hugging my knees close to my chest. Maybe it wasn't Candyland, but it was more than anybody else could ever hope for.

He bit his thumb. I could tell because of the strange humming sound coming from the phone.

"Please?" I begged hopefully, out of character. It was not too grown-uppy and it maybe even counted as playing dirty, but I'd fight for it.

My right ear was stuck to the phone, in case I should notice a suspicious sound.

"I would be open to discussion."

I smiled. One small victory at the time.

"Moving on, I don't think it would be wise for you to try and engage in contact with him before we've caught him." He went on "In fact, for your own safety, I would suggest we let him believe you've died."

"You are _not_ to do such thing." I threatened.

Actually, I didn't know why I cared about that so. It's not like it should affect B much, right? What L had suggested seemed to make a great deal worth of sense. But for some reason not fully known to myself, I was reluctant to have that take place.

He took a pause before answering.

"It's your call." He didn't seem too bothered by my choice "But you're still not to go after him without us previously agreeing so. It's not just _your_ safety that I'm concerned about."

I sighed.

"Fair enough. I expected no more." I concurred.  
"In that case, I believe there are no more items to discuss, unless, of course, you've got something to add..?"  
I thought about it.  
"N-No... Wait, actually." I remembered "What does Wedy have to do with this at all?"

By his reaction, I figured she'd been the last of his concerns at the moment.

"She was a good idea." He replied mid-typing.  
"A good idea?"

An 'uh-hum'.

"It was your idea. Maybe I modified it a bit, but it was still good in principle. I wonder if I'll use it in the future again."

I sighed. One got enough of that at the Wammy's House. A lot of bragging, little explanations.

"Why don't you come to my room? I've got something to show you." He mused.

I stood silent for a while and then giggled like a teenage girl (which I was, come to think of it). In case there are any children present, I'll avoid saying what it was that I'd thought.

Because of the pause, L didn't seem to find what was so amusing either. He'd just have to give it a minute.

"I'll be right there." I said once I'd quieted down.  
"Alright then." He ended the conversation.

* * *

_Hey guys, sorry for taking so long in updating. It wasn't helpful at all that I'm sick AND have big important tests to handle this week (and tomorrow. Yes. This chapter was procrastination at its best.) Hopefully I'll find more time to write soon. :)_


	38. Part IV - Chapter V: Leveling Up

**Leveling Up**

"YOU DID WHAT!"

Pillows flying everywhere. Possibly because I threw them.

Once I'd made sure to remember I was too pretty to go to go to jail, I turned around to find L feeling his ears to check if there was still anything useful left of them.

He cleared his throat with as much caution as would be required to defuse a bomb. A manner I thought accurate.

"I said..." He started "That you don't have to worry about that, because I've already paid off what you've stolen."

I was boiling.

"L, this is outrageous! You will steal that back immediately!"

Leave the room, A. Just leave the room. Storm out, do something dramatic and order a lot of ice cream like you always do, but just leave the room.

"Please don't make an attempt on my life." He requested as if he'd been reading my mind, carefully blowing over his cup of coffee "Honestly, I fail to see what you're so upset about."

"Those are _my_ mistakes. _I_ must pay for them. Not Watari. Like he doesn't get enough, anyway..." I threw my arms up in the air. I got a feeling it was either the air or L's neck.

He shrugged.

"Isn't that what parents do? Clean their children's shenanigans up?"  
"If by children you mean toddlers, or pets. I was fully aware of what I was doing, and I intended to repay that myself. _Not_ getting Watari involved. Or you for that matter. I can't go around the world causing mayhem and madness because I can count on you two cleaning after my mess every time. An amorality of that level troubles me beyond reason..! It is a terrible example to give me!"  
"You might be overstepping the mark there." He commented peacefully.  
"Are you saying I'm exaggerate?"

L was a genius, that was indisputable. But if there's _one_ thing that's common knowledge, is that you _never_, under any circumstance, should call a woman exaggerate when she's mad. Or when she's not mad. That's in the life tutorial. It's a prerequisite before being allowed to live.

His stare was fixed on his mug. He took a sip and burnt his lips. I must admit it gave me dark pleasure.

"But don't you see..." He started carefully again "that you've somehow already paid for this?"

I crossed my arms. Explain yourself, young man.

"You started solving cases at the Wammy's House when you were 13 years old. That is, you've been working as a private investigator for about 4 years now, give or take. You don't think that you've been doing that for free, do you?"

I gasped.

"What are you implying?"  
"Have you ever pondered on how much a brain like yours is really worth? As in _pound sterling_-worth? Are you really as naive as to believe that those petty thef..._loans_ you took, were anywhere near that number?"  
"No. And I'd rather you stop it this instant. I dislike where this conversation is headed."

He sighed, smirking.

"Where do you think all of the Wammy money even comes from?"  
"Watari."  
"Wrong." He gleefully corrected. But that's just because he loved to correct regardless of the occasion "Yes, Watari may have come up with the whole initiative and invested his fortune in the Wammy's House, (keyword being 'invested'), but eventually, financing has to come out of _somewhere_. To put it in d'Anconia terms, you can't consume more than you've produced, A.

After all, the Wammy's House _is_ an institution. It has teachers, kitchen staff, gardening staff, maintenance, kids to take care of... Those are an awful lot of bills to pay for. And it's not like there's a State funding after us... If we weren't making any money, how would you expect the orphanage to survive for long? Just off Watari's fortune? How much is that exactly?"

I stared astonished.

"We're not mere altruist, aristocratic hobbyists; we actually bring a service to society. We solve crimes, and we raise other children to be able to do it also. And possibly better than anybody else out there..." He finally dared take a second sip of his coffee "Wouldn't you find it natural to be paid for your job?"

Slurp.  
I stammered.

"But then I've wasted Wammy's money either way. Things that could have been used productively..!"  
He chuckled.

"Yes." A small thinking pause "But don't forget that that was money that _you_ made, whether you knew about it or not. It is yours to do what you want with it. That you chose to use some of it in a ridiculously overly-expensive prank was, as unlikely as it was, still a possible outcome that the Wammy's House and investors should have had in mind when we came looking for you. You're an inversion after all. _We are_."

I raised an eyebrow and fell down to sit on the floor, almost catatonic.

I knew that his argument made perfect sense, but I still couldn't picture it that way. I'd been stressing over the fact that I was a criminal and, in a second, that reality had changed to the fact that, in a way, I'd been simply wasting my own money, regardless of how unaware of it.

How much money was that? No. I didn't even want to hear about it.

I sighed.

'_You're an inversion after all. We are._'

"Is _that_ what we are...?" I didn't get to intone it as a question, as it was mere out loud thinking.

That wasn't... _bad_, was it? No, I didn't think so... Not _fully_, at least. Or wait a minute.

Upon noticing that it was safe again, he finally placed the laptop over his lap and went on typing. I wondered whether he purposely gave me stuff to think of to constantly distract me off what upset me. Like his arguments were a red laser dot and I was some kind of cat chasing after it like there's no queen and there's finally anarchy in the UK. Anything was possible when it came to him, really.

I didn't find it exactly disturbing or shocking that what we did was some strange form of a business, regardless of how secretive. It was silly to think there would be no benefactor, now that the idea had been proposed. Who were those people? No. I didn't care to know.

I wasn't too sure I loved the Illuminati aspect of my life. It was too... exclusive? I couldn't put into words what it was that bugged me the most. It was like the more I knew about my life, the less I could retain the idea and hope that I was, well, normal. I wasn't even sure whether I was really in control of my own life, since I was obviously part of something bigger than I could grasp.

And yes, I know that there isn't a worthy definition for "normal" out there, but give me a second. I am_ an inversion_? Is that what _I am_? A letter? A price tag? An inversion? I was utterly confused. I couldn't decide what I hated and what I was okay with. There was too much information to process at once.

"I told you there were things you wouldn't comprehend for a while..." He muttered as if he'd regretted even starting the conversation "Amelia, please stop it. You're distracting me."

'Oh?'

I noticed I'd stood up and started walking from a spot to the other non-stop.

I stopped abruptly and sat down again, resting my chin in my hand like Rodin had sculpted my every feature.

"And if I walk out of this..." I resurrected after a while "Is there an escape? Will I be chased around with crossbows and sacrificed in a dark temple if I want out?"

I hadn't heard him laugh that loud in _years_. He stopped when he looked down at my face and noticed I'd been quite serious about it.

"Don't be paranoid." He led his eyes back to his screen.

I made a scoffing noise.

"The irony that you should say that overwhelms me."

He thought about it. A slight chuckle.

"It _is_ quite ironic."

He was definitely toying with me. It was as if he waited for my faces of despair to show up before he'd make a comment to make up for the caused trouble. It wasn't the first time I'd caught him indulging that kind of behavior, come to think of it.

His eyes softened.

"This is not some twisted, Aztec-communist, conspirator society, Amelia." He smiled amused, possibly not laughing for my own sake "You can choose to take part of it, as well as leave it when you want, but it's still got some business component to it. It's there... But that's all."

'That's all.'

I breathed in and out, thoughtful.

Of course. Money had to come out of somewhere. I'd had sublime teachers, lived in a big-ass Mansion, caused my share of mess... And in return, I'd worked as a private detective for years, instead of hanging out with people like Irina and going to the mall every Saturday like a normal girl.

'Girl.' I remembered the concept. I'd gone through such a deep depersonalization, that I'd started to wonder whether I could really still call myself a girl.

'An inversion.' I sighed.

The Wammy's House was a good inversion. That if you didn't have in mind it was still sort of experimental and one of the main possible successors had gone nuts and done the exact opposite of what he'd been prepared to do. But hey, that's business.

It was not that the Wammy's House was fairly lucrative what upset me. It was the way L had chosen to explain and define things that did. It was appealing to an inner, deep old buried worry of my own.

I took a breath and looked up again.

"I see." I hugged my knees "But..."

Wait. I wasn't sure I wanted to ask. I let the question die.

Silence. I could still hear Wedy on the other room. She'd been on the phone for hours and had only appeared once to grab a second pack of cigarettes from her purse, to then go back to the other room without saying a word. It was probably more stressful a task than it had seemed.

"But what?" I had my thoughts interrupted.

I took my time before answering. I shrugged, feeling slightly depressed. Maybe I was just overwhelmed.

I laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling to calm down. I found the words I'd been looking for.

"It's just that I... I look at you, and you seem so serene about all of this. And it... It troubles me. Deeply." I took a breath "Just look at our lives for a second. I know we've chosen this. At least I know that I have. And I don't regret it, no..." I took a pause to remove something from my left eye that was probably not even there on the first place "But there are things that I still can't get used to, things that I still battle with. I keep thinking that I'll come to terms with it with the time, but you... You seem so nonchalant about it. Like you've already figured it out. And B, him..." I cut my sentence, frowning "Well, maybe _now_ he isn't the perfect example... But I used to see that in him too."

There was a silence. I still wasn't finished talking.

"It's the way that you accept all of this that just... _freaks me out_!" I sighed, regaining my passion. I sat as to be able to look at him while I talked "The way we live is so... Lonely." I dropped my sight, afraid to give too deep an insight "I-I am not implying that I expected it to be a Gatsby party, but just look at us! I am your friend and... (Well, at least I want to believe that I am your friend), and we don't even know each other's names. You know my first name is 'Amelia' out of sheer chance. Forget about a second name or a last name. As for me, I can only suspect that your name is 'L', but statistically speaking, it's unlikely. It could be something dreadful like _Lorenzo_..." I looked up so check his eyes and see if I'd offended him.

So not Lorenzo. I shrugged and went on.

"And then..?" I made an overdone hand gesture "I am supposed to live as your back up. Literally just wait for you to die and then jump on to replace you." I lifted my eyes again to see if I caught any hint of an emotion.

Nothing.

"Oh, for Christ's sake..! Get upset!"

He looked down and smirked.

"Death is not something I'm afraid of, A." He looked up again "I've come to terms with it a long time ago. I simply understood that our time on this Earth is limited, and therefore I might as well do something productive out of it."

I sighed frustrated, half chuckling.

"That's beside the point, L. I'm aware of that also. In fact, I think there is nobody out there that's more aware of her own mortality than I am. I've been on a fire, pushed in front of a car, and I've also jumped off a bridge. Into a river. In the winter. And each one of those episodes has left a mark, whether physical or psychological; whether I mention them or not." Maintaining eye-contact was becoming excruciatingly difficult. I disliked this sort of confrontations terribly, but it was something that had been eating me for a very long time "I _know_ I will die some day. And at this rate, and with my luck, it will be a whole lot sooner than it will take other people to even_ say_ 'life insurance.' "

I smiled wearily. Feeling stuff is exhausting.

"W-Whatever the case..." I scratched my eyebrow scar thoughtfully "It feels awfully lonely. It feels as if we don't really matter. And the fact that it doesn't seem to trouble you in the least, upsets me more than it could ever upset me not to have a name, or an official age, or a favorite colour." I confessed.

It took a while, but he replied before I could go on.

"I'm sorry that you should feel that way, but you're wrong, Amelia. I don't think that you don't matter. In fact, I find you to be quite invaluable."

But no. I wasn't into the rant for the compliments, or to hear whatever he thought I wanted to hear. I sighed, wondering if I'd screw anything up by going on. I tried to take a deep breath before speaking, but I was already speaking before I could care to breathe.

"But how can you say that! You don't even find _yourself_ important!" I snapped back offended by what I thought was a fake display of affection. Just about the last thing I needed.

I don't know whether it was for my own relief, but it was definitely for my surprise, that when I looked up I saw that he'd slightly averted his eyes, as if what I'd said had struck him more than I could actually understand.

"And I'm not talking about the importance of what you and I _do_. I'm talking about the importance of who we _are_... I _love_ my job. And I do have the deepest admiration for your work. But we are not our jobs. You are not just a detective and I am not just a successor. We are not just a service. We are not just letters, nor just an inversion. I can't accept that. I can't see myself like that. I can't see you like that. And yet you don't seem to have a problem with it..." I ran out of breath, so I took a pause before proceeding.

A sudden thought hit my head. I had definitely not had that in mind before that conversation took place, but now it was too hard to ignore. I'd come to the end of the road on that which had kept bugging me for so long.

"I don't think I want to be your successor anymore." I looked into his intense eyes. I would have rather not, but quitting is something that is not meant to be done so cowardly.

He raised his eyebrows, mildly astonished. He was possibly wondering how it was that we'd jumped from A to C so suddenly. He lead his thumb to his mouth as he listened intently. It was somehow disturbing that he'd suddenly become so quiet. I'd always known him to be the one with the last word or input.

"There is obviously something there that I don't have. Something you, and B, and maybe many others have, but that I don't. And it's not a question about solving problems, or silly IQ patterns, it's a matter of perspective." I bit my lip nervously "The idea that you should die... I dislike it." Yeah. To put it in simple terms "I won't live waiting for you to die, to then _become_ you, like you've never existed. Unlike you do, I don't think you are replaceable." For my own sake, I wasn't as self-pitying as to add 'I just wish that someone out there would think too, that I'm not replaceable.'

Eueh... I noticed I'd been trying to make a point, and I was only one 'Ohana means family' away of the corniest speech I'd ever performed. It was a more than mildly irritating sensation.

The door opened abruptly. Oh, timing.

"Nobody-...!" Protested Wedy as she entered the room again.

The whole room's scent started to slowly blend in with that of Wedy's cigarettes and strong floral perfume. It made me think of a mix between the colours grey and pink, for some irrelevant reason.  
The scene must have been more tense than I'd reckoned, because after the abrupt interruption in her speech, she asked whether it was a bad moment.

We cleared our throats and simultaneously replied that it wasn't. That is not awkward at all.

"Right..." She stopped to retrace what it was that she'd been about to say "I've been on the phone for hours now. I've talked to the best: Foxtrot, Aiber, Domino. Nobody knows or has anything to do with it. In fact Graymoth himself called _me_ to know whether I knew anything about it. Nobody knows where he's come from, who he's working for, nothing. The guy's a shadow." She shrugged, letting herself fall over a couch on the other side of the room, somehow still managing to look classy. Her frustration was still showing.

I smiled faintly, recognizing the feeling.

She lead the cigarette she'd been holding and smoked a few puffs, ignoring our presence for a while. It made me crave a smoke myself. I know it's possibly not a healthy propaganda, but I'd found it that they had a rather calming effect. And at the moment, I felt I needed that calamity. I wanted it.

"I guess I did well choosing my work line. This detective thing is not doing it for me." She spoke again.

But the money we were paying her sure was. Besides, an alliance with Coil was something not even a criminal with half a brain would want to turn down.

Erald, on the other hand, didn't seem so bummed out.

"That is actually excellent news, miss Wedy."  
"Huh?" She turned to him.  
"That has significantly risen the chances for our suspect's identity to match this shadow's."  
"By how much?" She lifted her sunglasses as to meet his eyes.

He hummed, playing with his chin.

"Hm. By enough as to start buying us tickets to America."

Oh.


	39. Part IV - Chapter VI: Team Work Ish

**Team Work. Ish.**

"504... 505..."

L cleared his throat patiently. I heard the typying cease. Weird. It had served the function of background noise for so long I'd given up on the idea it would ever end.

"Uhm, A..?" He called from the table, not even bothering to turn.

I exhaled. 505.

"Uh, yes?" I didn't have much hope that something actually mentally stimulating would be asked of me. I was starting to suspect I'd been lied to about being useful to the investigation all along, all to hide my real purpose there: being 'the legs' of the group. For two days straight I'd done nothing more than just lying there on the couch, maybe occasionally making comments that little had to do with intelligence. I distinctly recall that this realization had come to me back when L was talking to the FBI and I, standing quietly behind to listen to the conversation, could only observe that "_Wow, and they let you talk to them like that..? That's kinda hot._" If I hadn't known him better, I would have been slightly pissed off at how secretly proud a comment so shallow seemed to make him. Like guilty pride. But when you think of it, maybe I didn't know him enough. I hoped for the best of humanity and paid the idea no more mind.

"Could you count in a lower voice, please?"

I thought about it.

"But if I do I'll lose count." I observed, while mentally repeating '505, 505, 505, 505...'

"I'm sure it must be very rewarding and interesting an experience, but is it absolutely necessary that you count each one of your hairs _now_?"

I smiled mischievously to myself. Maybe I had brought that on myself. Maybe I had (not so) innocently intended to tick him off on purpose. But in that case he had brought that on himself. Either way, I was dreadfully bored.

"Oh, L..." I exhaled dramatically, changing position in my couch as to partially hug a pillow "I am just so very bored." I complained dryly and lifeless.

He took a breath.

"You're wasting me." I warned him "I could be saving us time right now." I tried to sell him the idea, somehow still half-hopeful.

"Feeling bored, ey?"

The typying filled the room again.

Yeah, whatever. Watari had done his fair share of trying too. Well, if fair means asking politely _once_. Of course it took _me_ a little more to give up, but the results weren't any more satisfying. In the past months everything had been going on so fast, so full of adventurous experiences and thrills and this was just... depressing.

As far as things had been going, we were working on the assumption that the sudden unknown criminal that had appeared not too long ago _could_ (as well as he could _not_) be B. We didn't know whether this was trully the case, but for the moment it seemed it was as much as we would get. The only way of finding out was actually catching him.

Anyway.

This mysterious guy was causing panic all over the States, making holes in its banks without leaving traces behind. It is a really complicated process to explain without a map, but by the time the banks would even notice they had been scammed, it was too late to even try to stop this shadow. I could imagine the criminal laughing manically at the FBI's frustrated attempts to catch him while he made angels on the floor with money. Sigh sigh. Everybody supposed that with L's interest on the case, things would take a change for good, but whether the change that took place was any good, well... It is hard to say.

Not too soon after we got involved in the investigation (or, judging by the way things were going, after _L_ got involved in the investigation), the whole series of thefts stopped. I mean, sadhgfhjksdfg. If that was any frustrating to L or the FBI, just imagine how frustrating that was to me. Boredom would put an end to my life for once and for all. I didn't even have Wedy to talk to anymore. Now that she had already made herself useful, we parted ways at the Imperial Hotel, in Paris and now she would probably remain out of sight for a while. She was probably in a Club Med in Dubai right then.

Going back to the thefts' abrupt end, L didn't seem too discouraged by this. If my eyes were fast and my memory is sharp, I think I might have caught the glimpse of a half smile on his face, regardless if it had disappeared before I could corroborate there had been one on the first place at all. He didn't say why, but this is what L (and I suppose me too, but who cares) thought: the series of thefts were but a way to draw out his attention. The real question was: what for? On the other side, oddly enough, I recalled having joked/told B myself once that, maybe the only way I'd ever see L again was if I became a criminal. In fact, I mentioned the idea of becoming a super cool bank thief, since it was a quite harmless way to piss everybody majorly, if you were smart enough to pull it off. Well, this shadow was sure smart enough. And I guess B was smart enough as well. I did keep that bit for myself, though, as it wasn't going to change the course of history anyway.

So L talked to the FBI. More like he bossed them around like he owned the place. Which was pretty funny, since L didn't seem to _fully _grasp how arrogant he came off to them. Or if he did, he did a good job hiding it and playing stupid. Which makes the whole thing yet more awesome. I'm going to stick to that version for my own pleasure.

Anyway, where was I..? Ah, the video-conference, yes. The boys at the buro seemed pretty tired from chasing around after this guy, so they didn't put up many complaints against L's odd requests. In fact, they were so colaborative it gave me a feeling they were not just really respectful of L's image, but rather desperate to catch the other bloke. I can't say I liked that. I didn't think institutions should be waiting for L (or anybody for that matter) to solve their homework. But then again, I guessed that was what the Wammy's House was _actually_ for. Maybe that was exactly the kind of cases we were prepared for. I catalogued all those worries as 'not relevant enough' and forgot all about it. Somehow marking stuff as 'not relevant enough' seemed to brush off all nervousness that came along with caring. I could have wondered whether it was trully an ethical behaviour, but then again: it was not relevant enough.

So we got all the information the FBI could get us and we assured them that everything was under control. They got us numbers, names, bank accounts, places, suspects, their lunch money, everything. Usually when we get a lot of information we just go over the most important steps and then check everything thoroughly if necessary, as means to save some time. Which pretty much means that _L_ got to handle that 'fun part' while I just laid there, separating my hairs and counting them individually while a criminal was on the loose. Why? In his words, he was sorry, Amy, he just 'didn't know how to work in groups'. In my words? Because he was a godless, evil, cold-hearted bastard, and whatever benefit he got out of watching me twist in boredom was worth the hours of begging, and threatening, and harrassing that I could ever put him through.

Which is why I gave up.

Which I found slightly odd.

I mean, it _was_ weird. I used to believe my superpower was annoying the sanity out of people, but he must have been made out of kryptonite or something. It depressed my mood.

"Why don't you go out for a walk?" He dared suggest "I'll have Watari take you wherever you go. It _is_ sunny after all."

I sighed, trying not to get desperately exhasperated. A few inhalations later reminded me of how irrelevant it all was, when you thought about it.

"Because, L," I sighed "from all of the places you could have chosen on the surface of the United States of America, you did not choose Las Vegas. You did not New York. You did not choose Miami... You chose _Washington_."

Before he could ask, I interrupted.

"I mean, what is the _fun_ in being rich if we're gonna end up coming to Washington, anyway?"

He kept on typing. I got up and started to walk around silently.

"A." He called me again after a while, still not turning.

"Yes, dearest?" I replied half sarcastically, half out of habit, drawing hearts and flowers on the big, foggy window before me.

"I actually _have_ something for you to do."

My finger stopped the doodling. My eyes lit up but I didn't answer for a while, as to cherish the moment fully. Maybe I was hallucinating.

"I'm listening."

"Could you go get the other laptop on my bedroom, please?"

I turned. Why wasn't I surprised that he had '_another laptop'_?

"Do you want me to get that because I'll need it or because _you'_ll need it?"

The first hint of amusement betrayed his voice tone.

"You'll need it." He reassured me.

Fair enough. So I went to get him the laptop and got back.

"Did you bring the charger?"

I raised an eyebrow, not amused. He went back to his screen, waiting for me to return before I had even left.

So I went to get the laptop charger and got back. I plugged everything where it was supposed to be plugged and L interacted with the machine. And I used the verb 'interacted' there because I have never seen a way to use a computer that was as confusing as what was witnessed.

"While I look for it, wouldn't you be as kind as to please refill my mug, dear?"

My eyes weren't exactly happy about the situation, even though the kitchen was literally, some steps away.

I grabbed the mug off his hand brusquely.

"But only because you called me 'dear'." I explained combining a strange mix of feeling annoyed with casual flirting.

His eyes, untouched by my frowning, went back to the screen. The voice was amused, nonetheless. That, when amused means 'devoid of emotion, though secretly, actually amused. Maybe. You'll never know. Muahaha.'

"I can call you a lot more than that, dear." He went back to typing.

Walking away, I lost that little game and laughed out loud.

"_Detective_!"

Yup. Maybe my whole purpose there was as useless as being the legs of the group.

The sound of a liquid filling up a cup. The coffee was cold, so I gave it a minute on the microwave.

Or maybe just the housewife. If I got a few more people like me I could start my own show. 'Desperate Wammy's House-wives'. Maybe not so catchy at first, but it would grown on people.

The microwave beeping: a minute had passed. Time to return.

The image of a boy was waiting for me at my computer's screen. He must have been around 13. As I got nearer, I recognized the face. At the Wammy's House, we knew him as Raphaël.

"What's with him?" I asked, placing the mug next to L.

He took a sip before replying and his other hand started to show me there was a lot more to all of it than it seemed.

"These are our best students back in Winchester." He explained, going through a bunch of pictures.

I rested my face on my fist, all observant, yet not impressed.

Some I had seen around, but there were still faces I didn't recognize. There were young children among them too. Some must have been 9, some 6.

"And again, what's with them?"

He put his mug aside.

"Well, you quit your position." He thought was explanation enough.

I blinked, encouraging him to go on.

"And B is a criminal."

He was on fire today.

He sighed.

"Well, since you two were the first in line to be my successors and are now out of the way... I obviously need new people to fill up those positions."

I looked at him as if I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"And you want _me_ to choose _for you_?"

He frowned, understanding.

"Well no, not _choose_. But given that you were on for the position yourself, that you lived at the Wammy's House and that you know the pressure it takes to hold up to be a successor from first hand, I'm naturally interested in your input. Besides, there's a chance you know most of these people better than I ever will..."

I opened my mouth and I closed it again. It wasn't relevant enough for me to become upset about it. I'd keep my cynical cool about it...

Oh nonsense.

"L, this-..."

Well, whether I liked it or not, there _would _be another successor. And that _I_ wasn't capable of being one, didn't make other children any less able to be successors themselves.

And yet again, it was one hell of a decission. I knew that living under the shadow of L and everything that it implied would put the kind of pressure on them that would pretty much be enough to scar the toughest out there for life. I didn't like the idea of messing with children like that. It was true that back in the Wammy's House most of us were already screwed up for good, but it was different. Their whole lives and their meanings would change. They would pretty much compete each other to death from early ages to become someone else. Everything would revolve around that for them from then on. And what would happen when and if it proved not to be enough? They were all mighty inferiority complexes in the baking.

Look at B on the other side. He was a successor. See how he turned out for him. And I wasn't exactly miss psychologically stable either.

I took a deep breath. I'd take a look at it. I mean, it could do no harm. Besides, it would have probably been best for the children that I took a look at their information anyway, so I made no further objections.

We spent hours, each one sitting at their computer, occasionally inquiring about the other's work even if the answers took nowhere.

There were a few children that I liked or found most suiting for the successor's open lot, but there were too many aspects to be considered. There was for example, this boy named 'Near'. He was only six years old, which was probably why his overall efficiency wasn't better than the others'. And yet he seemed so brilliant, his future so promising, that I thought that maybe, in a few years, he'd be surpassing anybody whom I'd find good _now_. Had I ever met that kid? I didn't think so. Probably if I'd had, I'd have tried to talk to him... Looking back on it, I probably wouldn't have either way, but as I looked over some of the children's files, it made me wish I had spent more time in to trying to get to know them. I would have had plenty of interesting friendships by then. And I would have had something to come back home to as well.

I turned to look discreetly over at L.

I was chasing after whatever was left of B, if there really was some bit of sanity or of someone to be looked for. But L was really all that there was left for me now. There was also Watari and secretly Roger too, I guess, but they were different. They were like parents, not friends.

"What?" My staring finally distracted him.

I shook my head. Nothing. I went back to looking at files all over again.

This other kid 'Matt' I liked too, I suppose. Him I'd seen around, hanging alone, mostly. He carried a Game Boy Color all the time, even in the garden. I'd noticed it because, back in Argentina, I used to have its older form, the Game Boy. I'd sometimes wish I'd be brave enough to ask him to let me play as well, but seeing it as popularity was never my best, we never really met. Man, I was starting to regret my frustrated socialization. I'd always thought that between B and L I wouldn't be really wanting anybody else, but... Well didn't it prove to be more complicated than that?

Matt was eight. I tried to calculate how tall he would be. Back at at Winchester, he wouldn't make it past my waist, but by then maybe he'd grown.

Because I 'knew' Matt and we now had that stupid invisible video-game bond he wasn't even aware of, I found it specially hard to sentence him to years of doing successorish stuff. Maybe I didn't have the power, but I _did_ have the influence.

I sighed. It was like picking a puppy to be sacrificied so that the others could be saved.

I bit my nails anxiously. No, not puppies! Think of bats. Bats with spiders for eyes. And they're racist too. Yep, that one's definitely racist. And he hates chocolate too.

Then there were the older ones, the ones from my generation. Timothy was there. God he was so obnoxious it hurt to remember. He was sixteen. And René was there as well, she was my same age. I remembered her well... _She was_ smart, she just wasn't (if you'll pardon the expression) _me_-smart. And if I'm not exactly _L_-smart, then I didn't think she'd be serving the purpose. But looking at her grades and knowing how annoyingly meticulous she was, maybe that wasn't entirely necessary. If she learnt to use and stress her forward planning abilities at her advantage, maybe she could one day make a fine successor. But she would definitely make a decent detective, that I didn't find troubling... As far as personally I disliked her. So naturally I disliked the posibility of the eventuality of one day having to call her L.

René was possibly, (as much as I hate to put 'the best' and 'René' in the same sentence), the best candidate from that list. I was still dwelling on the idea that maybe Near would be able to surpass her one day. But for now he was simply an (extremely gifted) six year old. I thought his biggest worry should be toys, not punching René hard on the face... Either way. I still couldn't forget that other children kept coming to the Wammy's House. Maybe some other new kid would turn out to be better than my picks some day. At least I hoped so.

As for the competition factor, René was excessively competitive. Since she rather enjoyed it, why not let her part in the toughest competition out there? And as evily as it sounds, I actually meant it positively. A bit.

I thought another good pick would be Franco. He was fourteen and hung around this other girl all of the time. That was basically all I knew about him, but his report cards were quite outstanding.

In a sigh, I remembered how B and I would compete all week long against each other. The bragging, the hating on each other, the piano... I wondered whether whatever pair or threesome got chosen (I'm aware of how dirty that sounded, thank you) would become just as good friends as B and I had. I wondered if I'd be going back to the Wammy's House. Maybe I could help my favourite out or something.

L noticed my mind was trailing off so he asked if I'd reached any final conclussions.

Man, it would be getting dark soon.

Oh, right, I'd been talked to.

"Er... I guess."

He leaned closer and stared at my screen as I talked, making the remarks I'd been thinking of for the past hours. I mentioned my hopes for Near, tried to hide my lack of fondness for René, barely mentioned Matt when possible, and yada, yada.

When I was done talking he was silent.

I turned to him.

"And? Any thoughts?"

"Which ones did you say again?"

"René and Franco. Maybe Aleksandr too if he bothers to pick up a book some day." Like I was one to talk.

"Hm." He seemed to be pondering on it as if it was a UN matter "Yeah." He finally came back down to Earth "I too think those will do for now."

Keyword being 'for now'.

We nodded and he went back to his own screen. I closed my laptop and watched him work. It's not like I had other things to do.

I noticed for the first time in the day that he'd been sitting there for far too many hours. It was at least a day, I believed. And both B and this thief (if they weren't the same person) were possibly not his only problem.

"I could handle your other cases."

I took the trouble of making it sound exactly as if I'd said that because I wanted to help him out of concern, but I just wanted _something_ to do. I think he noticed, because he smiled to himself in amusement. Was there _anything_ that escaped his sight?

"You could do that..." His voice faded out to the sound of typing.

I tilted my head expectant.

Finally, the waiting paid off. He turned his laptop screen so that I would be facing it.

"Or you could help me figure this out?" He leaned from behind the monitor.

In the screen there were many opened windows with similar images. They were check ends' numbers and a bunch of other numbers about the screen as well. The handwritting in some seemed familiar.

My eyes went back to his.

"What is this?"

"Oh, I think you'll love it. And there's plenty for everybody in there."

I smiled. We seemed to be getting somewhere.

* * *

_Hey guys! I'm so sorry it took so long to update. I got sick again, because I got the worst inmune system in the planet so every school related thing started to stack up and now I don't even have time to commit suicide. Huh. Anyways. Sorry again, hope it was worth the wait! :(_


	40. Part IV - Chapter VII: Touché

**Touché**

I'm going to start off based on the premise that you have no basic knowledge of how checks work. Yeah, I know. I wouldn't be ashamed of that particular sort of ignorance either. Thing is, if one should judge L's genius when put to good, one would be neglecting the neverending brilliance and spontaneity of it when put to mischief: for days I had complained I was bored. For days he'd had me moping, and threatening, and begging to be given something to do. Better yet: I'd _demanded _that I was included in the investigation. I'd been _offended_.

When he finally decided to give me the time of the day and, while he was at it, also include me in possibly one of the greatest puzzles I'd ever encounter (I still fangasm over it), there was but one thing I wasn't counting on: having to actually _understand_ the way banks worked. If in my right mind, why on Earth would I ever plead and demand to learn _that_? Quite simply, L guessed that when told I was not allowed to. So for days he had me approaching him nicely at first, later violently and then just in a quite vague and depressive manner, very much so at his mercy.

Of course that after the whole twisted parade of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, I had to sit through the whole of that dreadful reading part with my mouth shut. Once again, L had beaten me. Only this time I was left with no right to complain. That kinda hurt my pride. To put it in mild terms.

So banks. Checks, more specifically. Yeah. Hold on to your pants for a fun ride... Dear God, I promise there'll be some blood later.

There are 12 regional Federal Reserve Banks in the United States. When we're talking about checks, it is mostly below on the left corner that one finds the Bank's ABA routing numbers, written in a funny looking font with magnetic ink. These are like an address in Bank language. So to say. With this 'address', other banks can get in touch with _your_ bank and then collect fund from your account. The first two numbers indicate the region. For example, Boston would be 01, New York would be 02, Richmond would be 05, yada, yada. Micro scanners at every bank read these numbers and it is this way that checks are then shipped to the corresponding branch.

Let's suppose Mr. Taco has checks from region number 8, (that'd be Saint Louis). Mr. Taco was feeling very happy one day, so he wrote me a check for a hundred dollars. Cool. Now I'm in Kansas City, man, what happens? It's cool. I go to my bank, I get my hundred dollars and then the bank ships the check to its due branch and Mr. Taco's fund are collected from his account. Pretty smart.

Now. You remember that ABA numbers were written with a special font and ink, right? The machine that does this is called a Micro Enconder.

But, let's suppose Mr. Taco opens not one, but _many_ checking accounts at different banks, only he's not _just_ Mr. Taco. Sometimes he goes by Mr. Taco, sometimes by Mr. Tomacco, sometimes he's Mr. Hiccup. Let's also assume here that Mr. Taco is in posession of a Micro Encoder, with the help of which he _changes_ the ABA routing number of a check for 300 hundred dollars, say from 03 (corresponding to Philadelphia) to 08 (corresponding to St. Louis). Mr. Taco, (who is now, incidentally, impersonating Mr. Hiccup) cashes this check at Philadelphia and gets his 300 dollars. Meanwhile, the check is rerouted to St. Louis' Federal Bank. The Bank won't even notice that the check bounced for at least two weeks, but Mr. 'Hiccup' there just walked out with 300 dollars. Pretty fucking smart.

Quite the funny bastard Mr. Taco, ey? But if you think this guy was funny, you would have probably thought that the shadow L and I were chasing after was hysterical, because 300 hundred dollars is nowhere near what our guy had stolen. In fact, it was about two Great Walls of China appart. Give or take.

Moving on.

There's a part in a check called 'Memo', used for unofficial notes. Some people use it to remind themselves what the check is being cashed for, some companies use it for bookkeeping purposes. Actually, it is pretty safe to asume nobody really gives a damn about it. It's just there and can be used or not. Our guy _did_ use it, because our guy thought he was hilarious. In one of them (cashed from 'Hank Cracker' to 'Mortimer Wolf', two names as plausible as 'Mr. Tomacco') he actually wrote '_to swim, haha_'. That was just one in many. There was also a ketchup stain in one of them, but the whole check was in a deplorable state. That right there was another quirk of him, you know? Every fake identity of his had like his own fake personality, both shown in things like handwriting and presentation. Mortimer Cracker was as thorough as one can get, and I don't use that term to describe people too carelessly.

Remember when I said L and I thought it was a message for him? We were right. To some extent, though: it _was_ a message, only one not meant for him. This is the point where all hell started to break slowly loose, taking its time to enjoy the moment as it went.

It was as if we'd never find the end of it. There was a lot of checks, a lot of numbers, a lot of information... But it was all a lot of nothing. A dead end.

L never lost his cool, claiming that for every question there's an answer, and if there's an answer then he ought to find it. Now, I believed him at first, but as days started to go by and nothing changed, no new checks no news or sight of Morty, I started to grow impatient.

We had a joker. I tended to like those, the same way I liked Wedy. There's something quite fascinating about a clean, smart and cocky escape artist. Only this one in special had like a 13% chance of being the one person I'd been insisting on finding for a while now. I know 13 is a pretty damn cheap percentage, but it was as big as it'd get for me, I ha started to fear. It was only natural that Mortimer's disappearance should strike me as nerve wracking.

To clear my mind off for a while, I found some comfort going over the memos of the checks just for fun. Until fun inevitably became work, because I thought I'd found something.

It was purely coincidental. It was by accident. I don't think it would happen twice, but I thought, for a second, that there was something about one of them.

'_To swim, haha_'.

I chuckled nervously and lifted my eyes. It was a common habit now, so L didn't seem affected by it in the least, which is why he continued to move prints and pictures all over the floor, as if trying to invoque some voodoo spirit to give him the answer. On second thoughts he'd rather find it himself than ask, so scratch that.

My eyes ran back to the copy of the check.

To swim, haha.

It was an extremely long shot and possible insanely stretching things up of my part, but you're gonna have to bare with it, because I turned to be goddamn right. So you can chill out.

'To swim', that alone could be anything, but if it'd been a clue, then why was the 'haha' necessary? There wasn't sight of another direct taunt in other checks. There had to be a reason for it. So which one was it?

Where does one swim? In the water. (Pressumably. You could have a pool of pee, but that's unlikely and highly anti-hygienic). Water. Water in a pool? In a river? In the sea?

But the truth is, there wasn't a logical escalator that my brain took. It was merely, as I said, accidental. It was purely automatic that my brain thought " 'River = 'Río' in Spanish" as well as " 'I'm laughing = 'me río' in Spanish". Another variant could have been 'me estoy riendo', but in the former, there happened to be two equal words.

One swims in a river, one laughs.

Was it _actually_ a clue and the answer was 'Río' or was I beginning to see things? What did it mean? In all case it gave me nothing.

...Nothing but the incredibly slight possibility of realising that _maybe_, just maybe, we'd been looking for clues at the wrong place.

I returned the photocopy to the floor and discreetly checked the memos of the others. They were odd. We'd initially assumed it'd been mere purposeless taunting, but maybe there had been a purpose after all.

There was no way that I'd be able to decypher them individually. The first one, if I trully had done it right, had been out of sheer chance. They were all probably interconnected. But there was just too many checks. How would I know which ones to look for?

That right there was the moment when my love for L rebursted from the ashes.

"Ames." He suddenly called, quietly. Can't say I was digging that nickname though. It was the kind of name a chivalrous unquestioning buttler would have. Or so I imagined it in my mind "I've noticed a pattern." His eyes moved swiftly over the floor, as if checking every thought and idea to be on the exact same place he'd left them.

He'd noticed a pattern. Was it what I'd noticed or did it make what I'd noticed meaningless?

"He's got these little groups. I still haven't figured out why or what they mean." His hands were separating those groups in the air. His head turned to me. Extasis "Suppose he's got this fake identity called 'A'. A's checks are only involved, be it either directly or indirectly, with fake identities B, C, D, E and F. And these last five are involved with each other as well. Yet you'll never, and I've checked twice," He never liked to check twice "see F, for example, cross paths with G. G's got it's own little group. G only meddles with H, I, J, K and me."

I stared.

"Leave the puns to me." But he seemed pretty contented with his comedy skills.

I stood silent for a while, thinking of what he'd just said. L had his eyes fixed on me, awaiting my judgement.

"What do you think it means?" He asked.

Did he really want to know? Or was he just testing me? I smirked, but then shrugged.

"Well... I still think it's the work of one person."

"Elementary, my dear A."

I lifted my eyes and returned the gaze. Yeah. Definitely one person. A brain like that...

"Er... It _could_ be that he wants others to believe it's more than just one person, but...-No." I regretted my almost to be hypothesis as if I'd regretted an almost fatal chess move, due to overlooking the obvious "If he's that smart he would have known it wouldn't work." L smiled at this "I think it's been done on purpose. Not so much because it would serve him a purpose, but because it might serves _us_ one."

Now L looked mildly surprised, but I knew it wasn't exactly genuine.

"What do you think he wants?" I surrendered.

He looked up, rubbing his chin. His eyes returned to my face a while after.

"I have honestly not the slightest clue..." But he then found it necessary to add "That of course, leaving bragging and competition aside."

"Yeah..." I nodded slowly "I happen to know just what you mean..."

It took him a few seconds, but he finally returned a mischievous look.

Touché.

"What about you?" He asked after a while, his sight lost in the city "Found aything interesting?"

"No." I smiled politely, letting my eyes fly around Washington's buildings.

There was no reason why I should believe this, but some part of me thought L knew (and allowed) that I had lied to him. And that he also knew that I was well aware of this.


	41. Part IV - Chapter VIII: I hope you like

**I hope you like numbers**

There were 165 checks in total. I'd add a "that we knew of" in that sentence, but we'd checked every corner on the country looking for another. And no. Only 165 checks were necessary (at least temporarily) to satisfy our guy.

There was a series of checks, 50 in total, within these 165, that we'd called "_the modest ones_." Why? Well, simply because they asked for, indeed, modest amounts of money. And I'm talking ridiculously odd, exact and low amounts of money, ranging from 5 to 157 u.s. american dollars. Apart from these 50 cases, I'd say the others had as many ciphers as my name's got letters, give or take. So you see, having our guy cashing a check for five goddamn dollars when he'd cashed millions, made little to no sense.

I thought he was just fucking around. L... Well. Obviously, he thought different.

One morning, having woken up too early, I felt the most natural desire to go back to bed. And I would have, hadn't it been for the pair of socks I was wearing. They had a black and white checkered pattern. The cloth was quite warm too...

The thing is.

I hadn't gone to bed wearing socks the night before.

After a momentaneous brain activity hiatus, I identified the one responsible for it. I rolled my eyes over: L loved being perceived as a mystery more than I'd cared to figure.

I took a peek outside my bedroom door before stepping out, to see if it was safe to come out. Television noise. And a rather annoying one.

Half a room later, L was sitting in his preferred position in front of the telly, way too near for it to be healthy, shamelessly eating cereal from the box. The Silly Rabbit.

Without greeting one another, I stopped to see what it was that he was watching.

I squinted my eyes.

Was he... Watching a Formula 1 race?

I turned to look at him and then back at the television. I repeated the process, not once bothering to ask. His face was blank. Not one single trace of emotion. He didn't seem either bored or excited about the race, as much as he didn't seem bothered or interested about my presence there either.

I hate Mondays.

Not too late after I'd arrived, the car in the second place took over the first at the last lap, and the race came to an end. A man waving a checkered flag marked that the session had finished.

I turned to L and saw that he was cleaning his mouth with a checkered table cloth.

I laughed.

"Okay, enough, I got it. What is it with you and the checkered pattern?"

He smiled to himself.

"Next I was going to invite you for a game of checkers."

I smiled in a manner that translated into 'Ha-ha. Very funny.'

"I'm more of a chess person." I said mid-yawn.

A contemplative silence.

"So? Are you gonna tell?"

He signaled me to wait, lifting his index finger at me while turning to look for something under his sofa. He turned back again revealing what he'd been looking for: a book. More specifically, a dictionary.

"Chauvinism... Cheap..." Page turn "Cheat... Check... Checkers... Che..- Oh." Throat clearing

"_Check:_

_1. An examination to test or ascertain accuracy, quality, or satisfactory condition._

_2. A written order to a bank to pay a stated sum from the drawer's account._" He lifted his eyes calmly "I believe we've both been quite aware of those two definitions for the past days, given that all we've been doing was pretty much just _checking_ _checks_ without rest..."

I blinked, waiting for him to go on.

"But this one, I think you'll like..." His eyes ran through the pocket dictionary's letters to find his last reading checkpoint "_3. A pattern of small squares..." _He lifted his eyes again, expectation all over his sleepless gaze. Gee, those eye bags had at least a full day.

There were clearly more definitions, but he'd found the one he'd been looking for:

"A pattern. Of small. Squares..." He reiterated slowly and somewhat happily, but for suspense's sake, he took his time before exclaiming: "It's a crossword!"

Two... Five... Seven seconds passed before I blinked again.

I weakly patted his head, in a manner that said 'That's great, L.'

"I need coffee." I mumbled, I can't remember in what language, turning to the kitchen. Having coffee is rule number one before even trying to deal with L. A DEFCON 1. Unattended, you'd be facing severe headaches in a near future. That is, aside from the ones where no god can help.

I took my mug to the nearest table, I sat by it, and before any more routinary steps could be taken, there was a minor brain malfunction that resulted in me letting my head fall and bang the table.

Had I just witnessed that?

He got that there was a crossword out of _checks_.

Nawh way, José...

"A..?" Mild preoccupated voice called, reminding me I wasn't alone. And probably thinking out loud.

"Do proceed." I gave up.

I heard his feet quickly rasping the carpet as he rushed my way.

It was the sound of pages falling on the table that finally got me to jump up and lift my head.

I felt my forehead regretfully with the tips of my fingers, and took a fast peek at the pictures before me. I recognized a selection of checks.

I gazed at L. From his face, I could tell this was going to be either nuts, or genius.

Or both.

"Look here, see this?" His index rushed from photo into photo, my eyes following its trail obediently, fighting the impulse to surrender into slumber.

The coffee, silly.

Slurp.

$34, $86, $144, $5...

He was pointing at the amount of money of said checks.

I looked up again.

"Yes, _the modest ones_."

He nodded.

"Setting off from the assumption that these specific numbers were onto something, last night I sat and arranged them from the lowest to the highest value..."

Realizing he was missing something, he ran off...

I shook my head. Nuts. It was definitely going to be nuts.

...And came back with his laptop moments later.

L places his laptop before me and hit the enter key. A blank page with the following series of numbers appeared on screen:

_5, 20, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 43, 50, 58, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 70, 73, 74, 75, 80, 84, 86, 87, 88, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 100, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 127, 130, 142, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 157_

The modest checks from lowest to highest value, presumably.

"Mhm..." I encouraged him to go on, sinking my lips back into my coffee.

"Now. In all honesty," He panted "these numbers could have any or no meaning, and could be arranged in any way possible... But I'm fairly positive my assumptions are correct."

Which meant something like 'Just trust me on this one, alright?'

Not like L ever found the need to either excuse or explain his methods to anyone, but I guess he thought he'd go easy on me. If he didn't care what I thought, then at least he was doing a good job at being as nice as to pretend that he did. Which was quite a nice token of respect, if you have to ask.

"How high is fairly positive?" I put the mug off my face to talk.

"Quite." He hit the enter key with authority again.

On the screen, there was a new set of numbers:

_1, 2, 3, 4, __**5, **__6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, __**20, **__21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, __**34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 43, **__44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, __**50,**__ 51, 52, 53 ,54, 55, 56, 57,__** 58,**__ 59, 60, 61,__** 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, **__67, 68, 69, __**70, **__71, 72, __**73, 74, 75,**__ 76, 77, 78, 79,__** 80, **__81, 82, 83, __**84, 85, 86, 87, 88, **__89, 90, __**91, 92, 93, 94, 95, **__96, 97, 98, 99, __**100, **__101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, __**110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, **__117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, __**127, **__128, 129, __**130, **__131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, __**142, **__143, __**144, 145, 146, 147, 148, **__149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, __**157**__, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165_

What had happened here, was simply L adding the numbers he'd thought missing. Like number 143 between 142 and 145, for example. This was, supposedly, because somehow he'd arrived the conclusion that the modest numbers were a special selection within this bigger scale from 1 to...

"Why 165?"

And I could, regardless of how imaginative, sort of see why. When put from lowest to highest, it _would_ seem as if someone had simply taken away some of the numbers of an ascending number scale, or chosen the 'modest ones' off one... But why 165?

"Well, that idea actually developed after another thought. However, I _do_ think it should also be worthy of mention that 165 checks were cashed in total..."

I pulled a face that said just what he knew I was thinking "Yehhh, but that's a bit too wild an assumption."

He shrugged and went on.

"I thought it was funny that there would be certain number threads, for example: all numbers from 34 to 43, or from 110 to 116..." He started pointing at the bold characters that illustrated just what he was mentioning. "And then there are these other numbers..." He started pointing at the single numbers "These are just isolated by the rest."

I raised an eyebrow.

"So?"

He smiled.

"So what if they're not really isolated? What if I just didn't arrange them right, and that's keeping me from seeing whole picture?"

He'd had my interest (regardless of how half-hearted). Now he had my attention.

The next arrangement was rather... Impressive.

_ 001, 002, 003, 004,__** 005**__**, **__006, 007, 008, 009, 010, 011, 012, 013, 014, 015, _

_ 016, 017, 018, 019, __**020**__**, **0__21, 022, 023, 024, 025, 026, 027, 028, 029, 030,_

_ 031, 032, 033, __**034, 035, 036, 037, 038, 039, 040, 041**__**, **__042, __**043**__**, **__044, 045,_

_ 046, 047, 048, 049, __**050**__**,**__ 051, 052, 053, 054, 055, 056, 057, __**058**__**,**__ 059, 060,_

_ 061, __**062, 063, 064, 065, 066, 067**__, 068, 069, __**070**__**, **__071, 072, __**073, 074, 075**__**,**_

_ 076, 077, 078, 079, __**080**__**, **__081, 082, 083, __**084, 085, 086, 087, 088**__**, **__089, 090,_

_** 091, 092, 093, 094, 095**__**, **__096, 097, 098, 099, __**100**__**, **__101, 102, 103, 104, 105,_

_ 106, 107, 108, 109, __**110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116**__**, **__117, 118, 119, 120,_

_ 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, __**127**__**, **__128, 129, __**130**__**, **__131, 132, 133, 134, 135,_

_ 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, __**142**__**, **__143, __**144, 145, 146, 147, 148**__**, **__149, 150,_

_ 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, __**157**__, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165_

I sat analyzing the image, astonished.

I was right. Nuts _and_ genius.

The new arrangement L had found showed that the numbers could be arranged in a way that both horizontal and vertical lines could be seen. Now it was officially something too big for me to consider a mere coincidence.

"I thought of a way to fit the first single 'modest number', five, with the next one, twenty. After that I just kept separating them every fifteen numbers and the image practically built itself. Except for the last line, which ended at 157. I thought it looked rather incomplete, and that I was actually dealing with a 11x15 grid, so I added the 8 missing numbers."

Enter.

It was the same image, only the spaces where the 'modest number' should have been were left blank.

"Here I simply chose to remove the modest numbers and leave the rest. If you think of it in a term of a checks pattern... Wouldn't it seem like a crossword grid?"

I was speechless.

"This..." I was startled "This can't be a coincidence, can it?"

Silence. I looked up.

"Technically, it could. There's quite a reasonable chance... We shouldn't lose track of other posible ideas." Like we even had other ideas.

"But we don't think so." That it could be a coincidence, I meant.

He smiled.

"No, we don't."

My eyes turned back to the computer and my index started caressing a three-spaces-horizontal white line in the screen, where empty squares had been left to be completed. It felt as if I'd been admiring a work of art. What did I tell you about Mondays?

_3. A pattern of small squares_...

Motherfu...

"I wonder, though," L interrupted my trail of thought "if there really is a word to be completed here... Maybe it's something else. Maybe I'm wrong..."

I stood up smilingly and broke into laughter.

"Hm?" His frown implied curiosity enough.

That which he'd just found, _if_ he had found it (one can never forget one is dealing with assumptions, regardless of how shiny), had been too impecable. Too brilliant. Too much for a single morning. If he had done that, there was no doubt that the rest would be a piece of chocolate cake.

"I could kiss you right now."

I only saw mild surprise. But whether he found the idea pleasing or abhorrent, you couldn't tell from his face. Which made me chuckle even louder and at the same time limit my hormones to simply squish his cheek like annoying aunt in movies would squish their nieces/nephews'. What a good fucking Monday.

"I'm a guy, you know." He reminded me from the kitchen as I threw my body on the couch.

But I was distracted.

Because, you see? In the back of my head, a not-so-long forgotten word had come back to my mind.

''Rio.'' I whispered.

I'd noticed the presence of a 'three-spaced-long horizontal line'. Were we really dealing with a crossword? Had I really accidentally handpicked one of the twelve checks that had an answer? Out of 165 others?

"I have to check." I stood up, only to realize that I'd quite possibly fallen asleep "What time is it?" I asked out loud, not really knowing whether anybody was there.

"You were out for four hours." L. From somewhere.

9... 10...

Aw, man.

"I missed lunch?" I wanted to moan.

"There's some cold chicken and salad in the fridge. I didn't have much."

Figures.

"Found out anything new about your little blanks?" I asked innocently. But my choice of words was intentionally despicable of me. Heh.

Silence means no.

I sat at the table with a messy plate of food. The pages L had thrown before me hours ago were still lying there, serving as recycable table cloth.

I sat pinching my plate and eating, occasionally throwing stares at the pile of pages.

L didn't know this yet, but I was going to solve the whole thing before he would care to find out.

* * *

_Hey guys! Sorry again that I take so long to update! My bad u.u_

_I hope the whole thing wasn't either too dumb or too complicated. I could have been more thorough but I didn't want it all to become too tedious. Tell me what you think!_

_Until next update :D_

_Ps: Oh! And thanks to the reviewers! To some of you I wasn't able to reply to (more) personally, but know that your reviews have kept me very motivated :) Thanks, grazie, gracias, danke, merci, obrigada? Pick a flavour xD :P_


End file.
